


Redemption

by norasllo



Category: Beauty and the Beast (1991), Beauty and the Beast (2017), Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Eventual Romance, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Picks Up Where the Movie Left Off, Pining, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2018-01-29
Packaged: 2018-10-11 01:38:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 35,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10452087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norasllo/pseuds/norasllo
Summary: Gaston has been living in the forest since that night when he fell from the castle, and everyone in his village thought he had died. But a strange event makes him the only witness to a crime, which forces him to stop hiding. Accompanying his former enemy and his former best friend, he must travel through France in search of the real culprit, before everyone thinks he did it. And all that while trying not to fall in love.Special thanks to TrudiRose for correcting this story and making suggestions to make it bigger and much better. I can't thank you enough for all your work in my little story.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing this movie twice in theaters, I couldn't stop thinking about this, and I had this story in my head for about two days until I decided to give in and write it. And though I think their relationship is so toxic and unhealthy, I try to correct it here. This is my first story in such a long time, and the first time I write in English, as it is not my first language. So please, if you notice any mistake, tell me and I will try to correct it. Hope you like it!

The sun streamed through the cracks of the improvised shelter and lightly illuminated his face, forcing him to open his eyes. He sighed, realizing he would have to repair it again; if he didn’t, a rainy night would cause the water to leak in and end up spoiling the few objects he had. Pensive, he bit his lower lip, making a mental list of everything he was going to need... and he did not have. Carefully and very slowly, as slowly as he could, he sat up. He tried to support the slightest weight on his left leg, as it still hadn’t finished healing.  
He regretted never learned anything about medicine, for every time he had had a wound, it had been LeFou who had taken care of him, as if his friend had been his personal nurse; not even in the war, when everything was chaos and his wounds were frequent from the brutality of battles, had his inseparable friend allowed him to take care of the scratches himself. LeFou had personally been in charge of disinfecting and bandaging all parts of his body that needed attention.

He had never bothered to learn to look after himself, as he allowed LeFou to do everything for him. And now he was paying the price. The nightmares of the war had been joined by those of the horrible fall that should have killed him, but had not done so. And when at night the wolves hovered about his shelter and howled, and he had no choice but to remain awake and alert, for they could decide at any moment to take him for dinner, he remembered how the ground had disappeared beneath his feet, and his lips had opened in a soundless cry, and the sky had begun to drift further away until all he had seen was the color black. 

He could not forget that moment when he had awakened, dejected, agonized from the pain of thousands of wounds that seemed to have no beginning and no end, and which had drenched his body with blood. He had not even had enough strength to get up, but he had to drag himself into the woods. And when his strength faltered and the uneasiness and the restlessness flooded him, he was disappointed at still being alive. Why was he not dead? What was to become of him now? He couldn’t go back to the village! He wasn’t a fool: he had risked too much going to the castle to kill the beast, letting his pride decide for him. And he had lost. He couldn't bear to face them after his humiliating defeat. e was a coward, though he had always boasted of being brave.

He only had a dagger and a pistol that was useless, since he had no gunpowder, though he held it tightly to his belt so as not to lose it. He checked his clothes to see if he had any other object with him, but there was nothing else. So he secured the dagger and the pistol, and after that he crawled through the forest again, trying to get away from the castle. Once he thought he had put enough distance between himself and the castle, he tried to rise. He managed it after a lot of effort, and surprised and disheartened to realize that he hadn't gone far at all and that the castle was still quite visible from where he was. He had believed his strength to be far greater than it actually was now. Leaning on the tree, he also noticed the trail of blood he had left, and realized that they would soon find him if he continued on his way without getting rid of the blood...not to mention all the wolves and predators that lived in the forest and that would come after him at the smell of fresh blood.

His left foot was bruised and doubled in size, and it was almost unbearable to take a step. He tried, however, but after stumbling a couple of times, he gave up. The forest was spinning and he felt totally disoriented by the loss of blood. It was impossible for him to survive under such conditions.

He weighed his possibilities. He looked at his most visible wounds, those that had not stopped bleeding, and dropped to the ground, taking off his jacket. He tore one of the sleeves, using the fabric to make a tourniquet around the wound that needed most attention, and then he did the same with the less serious ones.. With a piece of tree branch he found, and with another piece of cloth, he stabilized his leg as he had seen a doctor do in the village, until it was as still as possible. By the time he had finished, he had not only stopped the bleeding but could also move more easily. He abandoned what was left of his jacket there, thinking that perhaps, with a bit of luck, the villagers would think a wolf had killed him.

He started to walk slowly, careful not to leave footprints. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the soft billow of a dark cloak, and he froze. If someone had already found him, his efforts were for nothing, as soon they would come to get him. He pushed himself to the limit, walking as fast as his strength allowed, and his determination was so great that he even felt lighter. He walked as fast as he could, not worried about making noise, but paying particular attention to his tracks. He fell a couple of times, exhausted, but he rose again. He only dropped when his strength left him again, and his vision blurred. He hoped he was already far from the castle.

He hated waking up again.

He was in the same place, which surprised him. No animal would have left him there without attacking, not when he was so helpless. But not only did he not have new wounds, but the old ones seemed to be healing at a surprising rate.

He crawled until he was crouched between the roots of an immense oak, and clenched his teeth hard until he didn’t feel the urge to cry. He missed his jacket, for the red cloth reminded him of better times. In addition, his hair was dirty and tangled, and was sticking to his face. In a moment of madness, he drew the dagger from his belt and used the blade to cut the most annoying tufts. Strands of his hair that had been his pride for years now lay carelessly on the floor. He gathered all of it into a small pile which he buried, not wanting it to be visible, and after that he got up and started walking again.

He had no direction in mind, but wandered aimlessly for a couple of hours, trying to get away from the paths used by the villagers. Part of him was looking for a part of the forest that was totally unknown to him, or at least that he was so far away that he did not run the risk that someone in the village might accidentally run into him. He turned several times, changing course, still somewhat disoriented, wondering if perhaps he was pushing himself too hard, but the fear that someone might discover him far surpassed any lucid thinking.

He had to find water as soon as possible, as the first symptoms of dehydration began to be present in his body. He knew of a river that traversed part of the forest, not too far from its location, but it was a place with a constant flow of villagers. He would have to go at night, when no one dared to go through the forest.  
Food was the second problem, but that didn’t bother him too much. His fame as a hunter was not unfounded, and although he was armed only with a dagger, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t able to get some food.

He also had to find a shelter, preferably near the water, but hidden enough that no one would run into him, even by chance. He did not have the need, nor the desire, to see anyone.

Him, who had always been the center of attention.

He didn’t meet anyone until many weeks later, when with fallen branches and the skins of some animals he managed to build a shelter. He had felt presences in the forest in recent days; on one day, in fact, the influx of people had been so great that he had ended up climbing a tree so as not to be seen. He saw a group of well-groomed people moving past the castle. Maybe some party was being held there. For some reason he had the horrible sentiment that they celebrated his death, and this almost caused him to puke. An enormous knot formed in his stomach that did not subside until several days later, when there was no one left roaming the forest, and he could even imagine that there was no one left in the world.

On one of those days, while he was washing his clothes by the river, he heard voices near him, quickly approaching. He collected his things in record time and hid among the trees, just in time not to be seen. What was his surprise when the three sisters of the village who had been so obsessed with him passed by his side without even noticing his presence. They picked up the skirts of their dresses so they would not get wet as they walked along the riverbank. He feared that they were looking for him, so he tried to listen to their conversation.

"I think it was around here," said one of them. "Stanley said the berries on this plant would add color to our cheeks.”

"But we're so far from town!"

“Don’t worry, Stanley said we would need to walk a lot,” said the first one. 

Realizing that the girls were not looking for him, he relaxed so much that he almost let out an audible sigh of relief. He moved, and as he did so, he stepped on a branch and caused the three girls to stop suddenly, alerted by the sound. They remained silent, alert, for a few seconds, but when nothing else moved, they continued their march. Not even one of them dared to go look for the source of the sound. He relaxed, since if they had decided to do it, they would have seen him. 

“How is Stanley after what happened with LeFou?” asked one of them. 

Hearing the name of his old friend, he moved again, in complete panic. What had happened to LeFou? He had to be fine! Suddenly, he remembered that he had left Lefou trapped under an enormous organ, reaching out to Gaston, asking him for help...but Gaston had abandoned him. He was racked with guilt. Had those bewitched objects hurt Lefou?  
He left the cover of the trees, approaching the river to hear the three sisters' conversation, getting so close that if any of the three had turned around, they would have seen him immediately. But he did not care. He just wanted to know about his friend.

“You know...” said one of them. “Stanley did not expect LeFou to move to the castle, but after all that happened…Stanley asked him to stay in the village, but LeFou moved anyway.”

“Yes, but ...why to the castle? With that horrible prince! Not to mention Belle...”

"Mrs. Potts was fond of him and offered him a job. After Gaston died, he didn't have much to do in the village." So they thought he was dead... “The horrible prince gave him work because Mrs. Potts asked, though.”

“He never goes to the village, he’s always in the castle.”

“Who are you talking about now? LeFou or the prince?”

“The horrible prince!”

“Now that everyone remembers how he treated us a few years ago? He should feel ashamed! No one wants anything to do with him!”

The girls' voices sounded more and more distant, but Gaston did not care, because he already had the information he wanted. So now a prince lived in the castle. But what had happened to the beast? Had anyone in the village managed to kill him?

He looked in the direction of the castle. If he squinted, he could make out the silhouette of the tallest towers above the treetops. He was worried about LeFou ... If the prince was as horrible as the girls said, perhaps his old friend was in danger. He did not know what he would do if he found that to be the case, but without much thought he ran as fast as he could toward the castle, ignoring the pain in his left leg and with LeFou in mind.


	2. Chapter 2

His heart was pounding, but he only increased the pace as the distance to the castle became smaller. He also felt a pressure on his chest that barely let him breathe. Far from slowing the march, however, he pressed the rhythm, wanting to reach his destination as soon as possible. His hands were sweating, and his heart seemed to want to leave his body. What if the prince had done something to LeFou?

He did not stop until he found himself by the stone walls of the castle, and once there he did not hesitate before climbing the wall and sneaking into the garden. The impulse of his arms and the effort to drag his leg over the walls caused agonizing pain in his body, but he ignored it: LeFou was more important.

He remained hidden, because it was still daylight. In fact, he had not even bothered to look to see if someone was strolling in the garden, and anyone looking through the castle windows could see him there, but he did not care. He was waiting, evaluating how to enter the castle, when the door unexpectedly opened and a dog ran out, followed by his friend.

LeFou laughed as he chased the little cinnamon dog with what looked like a ribbon in his mouth. LeFou called out to him, perhaps trying to get the ribbon back, but he was not pushing hard. He looked happy... so happy that Gaston released the air that his lungs had involuntarily been holding back. Then Belle opened the door of the castle and called to LeFou. She carried several books under her arm. One slipped to the ground, and LeFou hurriedly picked it up for her. Together they went back into the castle. Gaston decided it was time to leave, and carefully dropped down on the other side of the wall, careful not to make too much noise. Once he was back in the woods, he began to walk towards his shelter.

He did not allow himself to think until he was lying inside the shelter. His mind raced for those long minutes, striking at the thought that had been haunting him for days: why had everyone forgotten him so easily? On the one hand he was grateful that his friend seemed so happy...but if he had to think of someone who should have been upset at his death, that was LeFou, no doubt. Could a few weeks be enough to forget him? LeFou must have thought he had suffered a horrible death! Why didn’t he seem to care?

Annoyed, he pushed aside all the animal skins he slept on until he found the earth beneath them and raked his nails through the soil, trying to calm the rage that ran through his veins. He, who should have emerged victorious from the castle, with Belle under his arm and LeFou running after him as always, filling him with praise… He had to live in the forest now...and all that while LeFou was living the good life in the castle?

No way! It wasn’t fair!

And if LeFou did not care that he had died, then he did not care what happened to LeFou either. He was not going to go after him again, to see if he was okay or if he needed help. He had risked a lot in going to the castle.

He sat down again, crossing his arms over his chest, and forced himself to stop thinking about it. That was no longer his life. His life was different now, and LeFou was no longer part of it. He just had to recover, and when he gained the strength to endure the long walk that separated him from the villages of the south, he would walk there and finally escape from that forest. Find a new place where no one knew him, and start a new life under a new name.

Yes, that was a good plan.

He did not even remember falling asleep, but he awoke with a start. In the distance, and approaching dangerously close to his direction, the sound of horses could be heard. He thought of the poor wretch who had dared to cross the forest at night, and who possibly was running away from the wolves at great speed, and took pity on him. The wolves would kill the hapless traveler, no doubt. He huddled again and tried to continue sleeping, but he realized that the noise of the horses was getting closer and closer.  
Stupid! he thought. You're going to lead the wolves to me!

He got up, quickly left his shelter, and climbed the tallest tree he could find, making sure the branches completely hid him. Two men on horseback galloped just below where he was. They were dressed all in black, and rode through the dark without any lantern to light the way. One of the horses completely trampled on his shelter as it passed, splitting one of its branches into two, and it collapsed. These men did not even flinch, and Gaston thought of how they might have killed him if he had not woken up in time. And they would not even care!

Gaston again felt his anger rising, and chose not to suppress it. He clenched his fists, thinking how he wanted those men to learn his name. They were going to know who he was!  
He came down from the tree so quickly that he did not care where he was, and his clothes caught on one of the lower branches. To his deep disgust, he heard them tearing. His hands began to shake so much from the rage that he thought he would end up screaming in the middle of the forest. Again he clenched them tightly, so much so that his nails dug into his skin. He glanced at the remains of what had been his refuge for the past few weeks, and it filled him with fury. Who did these guys think they were?

Furious, he began to walk at a hurried pace, following the same route the men had followed. He did not dare to run, for his leg had not yet fully healed. He did not think about what he would do when he got there, or even if he could reach them. Gaston just wanted to face them.

It was not difficult to follow the trail, for they had left thousands of hoofprints in the earth. It was a moonless, dark night, and although he could barely see where he was going, he did not let that stop him. He could barely see, but that didn’t matter. He walked briskly until he heard a loud scream, which made him stop short. The birds of the forest took off. The scream sounded as if it hadn't been very far from where he was.

A new scream and a squeal caused him to start again, although this time he ran, not caring about his leg. If he had thought better, perhaps he would have backed down, for besides the dagger on his belt, he had nothing to defend himself with. He only hesitated when he noticed that the screaming, which had not subsided, came from the castle. He stopped, and was wondering if he should turn around when he heard a gunshot. Everything fell silent.

Someone shouted something, but the voice was muffled by the distance. Gaston noticed that he was in shock, and that he could not move. He stuck to the trunk of a tree, looking towards the castle, but besides the silhouette of it, from where he was he could not see much more. He climbed the tree, waiting for something to happen, and not daring to move. A new shot startled him, followed by more screams. The shot had come from the very front door of the castle.

It could be LeFou!

In his haste to get down from the tree he fell, but he didn’t care. He ran in the direction of the main entrance. The flurry of movement inside, unusual at such a late hour, made him uneasy. With his heart beating furiously, he ran through the gardens. As he got closer, he saw a person struggling at the front door with one of those men entirely dressed in black that he had seen in the woods. Just as he reached the base of the stairs, the man in the castle collapsed, grabbing his side, and fell down the stairs, landing at Gaston's feet.  
On the stairs, he had left a trail of blood, and Gaston couldn’t look away. He leaned over the man and turned his body over. He let out a sigh of relief when he noticed that the man was still breathing, although he was unconscious, and that he was totally unknown to him. The problem, now, was that the man in black had noticed him and was coming directly to him.

Gaston retreated a couple of steps, but that man in black ran down the stairs and struck him. They both fell to the ground and rolled. Gaston tried to fight and defend himself, but he was still too weak, and that weakness took its toll on him. The man threw himself on top of him and pinned him completely. With difficulty, he tried to squirm away, to push the man off of him, but without success; his feet and hands were held tightly.. He tried to pull one of his hands free, but his attacker would not let him. In his effort to keep Gaston on the ground, however, he freed his legs. Gaston did not miss the opportunity to aim a solid kick that caught the man totally unprepared. With the man distracted by the pain, Gaston he managed to scramble free and rise, drawing the small dagger from his belt.

The man stood up. He saw Gaston ready to attack with the small dagger in his hand, but far from being intimidated, he laughed. He didn’t attack, but waited for Gaston to make the first move. But Gaston took advantage of the moment to look closely at him. Thick beard covered half his face. His facial features were not entirely visible in the darkness of the night, but Gaston could distinguish how the left side of his face was not smooth and firm, but misshapen. Scars, he thought. There was no one with such characteristics in the village, so the man was a total stranger. Why was he attacking the castle?

Gaston suddenly rushed at him, dagger in hand, so quickly that the man was caught totally unaware. He staggered and grabbed Gaston, causing them both to lose their balance. As they fell, without missing a moment, the man snatched the dagger out of Gaston's hand. Shoving him down, the man laughed. Then he stabbed the dagger into Gaston's chest.

His attacker did not just leave him there, but seemed to want to prolong his suffering as long as possible. As Gaston began to lose strength in his limbs, the man twisted the dagger into his chest, causing him almost unbearable pain. Unable to defend himself, he stifled a scream. Beneath him he could feel the warm blood flow out of his body. He looked into the eyes of his attacker -- blue eyes -- and he hated that this was going to be the last thing he saw.

Another person left the castle, carrying a huge bundle. The screams inside had ceased, and Gaston hated to think that perhaps everyone was dead or, like him, on the way to being so. His attacker and the newcomer passed in front of him without even casting another glance at him, climbing up the enormous bulk of one of the horses that had been waiting patiently to one side. 

He looked up at the sky.

Before everything went black, he could make out the silhouette of a person leaning over him.

. . .

The rays of the sun streamed through the cracks of his improvised shelter and lightly illuminated his face, forcing him to open his eyes. He sighed, thoughtfully bit his lower lip, and...

Wait.

He was holding something.

Gaston looked at his left hand. He was holding a dagger and it was bloody. And the blood was still wet. In shock, he released it quickly, and it fell to the ground. What was happening? How did he get there? 

In a flash, he remembered what had happened. The castle! And what about LeFou? What had become of him? Was he dead? LeFou couldn’t be dead! 

And how was it that he was here again? His shelter had fallen down!

Quickly he looked at his chest, searching for the damage the knife had caused him -- but there were no signs of any injury there. He touched the area carefully, inch by inch, but there wasn't even a scar. If it weren’t for the bloody dagger still lying beside him, he would have thought he had dreamed it all.

He rose, picked up the dagger from the ground and left his shelter, feeling utterly overwhelmed and confused. He was dizzy and felt as though he could not breathe. He had to get out of there as soon as possible.

He ran to the river to splash some water on his face, to see if he could soothe himself. Then he would go to the castle to make sure that LeFou was all right. Yes, that was what he was going to do.

He was so distracted that he wasn’t careful as he usually was. If he had been, he would have been spared a good deal of trouble.

Three men on horseback galloped along the riverbank, looking for something. Alerted by the noise, they rushed to where he was. They saw him come out of the undergrowth with a bloody knife in his hand. Startled at seeing them, Gaston tried to run, but one of them caught him easily.

“Don’t move!” one of them shouted. 

Gaston's eyes widened. Another one pointed a gun at him.

“Identify yourself!” the man demanded. Then he stared, shocked. “Wait… Gaston?”

Gaston did not answer, just lowered his head.

What a way to go unnoticed.


	3. Chapter 3

Tom Dick and Stanley had always been responsible for maintaining security in the small village. Gaston, alongside them, had also dealt with the safety of the small town for some time before the war, so he knew these men very well. He had been a kind of leader to them, and they had always given Gaston words of respect and praise. Perhaps they did not admire him as much as LeFou, but they had always treated him well.

They had treated him like a prince.

But judging from the guns they were pointing at him at that moment, he was not a prince to them now.

Stanley wasn’t there with them, but a third man was. His name was Jacques, and Gaston had always found him to be a cold-hearted, sulky man. He hadn’t ever bothered with anything related to the village before, so Gaston wondered what he was doing there. And where was Stanley? Why wasn’t he there? The three sisters had talked about him, so Gaston knew he was still alive. Maybe he had simply decided that keeping security in the village was not something he wanted to do. After all, he had never been entirely comfortable in that job.

The three men, realizing who he was, had dismounted their horses and surrounded him, still aiming at him with their weapons. It was not like he was going to run away -- he knew perfectly well what his chances were of getting out alive from such a showdown -- but obviously Tom, Dick, and Jacques weren’t going to give him a chance to even think about a flight plan. Gaston stepped back and threw the knife to the floor. Tom went ahead to pick it up, but before he could do it, Gaston kicked the knife and it fell into the river.

“It doesn’t matter,” said Tom mockingly. “Oh, how I like to see the big ones fall. You're in trouble now, Gaston. They'll probably hang you.”

“For what?” Gaston protested, outraged. His voice sounded hoarse. “For failing to kill the Beast? You saw how vicious that monster was! None of you could have killed him either!”

The men stared at him in disbelief. 

“Wait a minute...” Dick said slowly. “You really don't know, do you?”

“Know what?” Gaston demanded.

The three men looked at each other. 

“That 'Beast' you made us attack was really the prince of our region! He was under a magic spell that turned him into a Beast. After the attack, the spell got broken, and he turned back into our prince again.”

Gaston was stunned. He looked at them with his mouth open, unable to process the story. He stammered in disbelief, unable to utter a word. 

Tom took advantage of Gaston's shock to take a rope from his belt and tie his hands together. “That's right,” Tom said. “So you're guilty of treason for trying to kill our prince!” 

“How was I supposed to know that?” Gaston said. “You didn't know he was a prince either! You wanted to kill that monster as much as I did!”

Tom shifted uncomfortably. Blaming Gaston for the whole fiasco was the villagers' way of distancing themselves from it, assuaging their own guilt. It had been easy enough, since everyone had thought him dead. 

“You tricked us and deceived us to get us to go after him! It was your fault, not ours!” said Jacques, talking for the first time. 

Gaston just glared at him with hatred.

“AND you tried to kill Maurice!” Dick pointed out.

"That's right!" agreed Tom.

“I didn’t do that!” Gaston shouted. 

“Don't try to deny it,” Tom said. “We all know the truth now. You were lying to us all along!”

“By the way, Belle is going to marry the prince, so she's is going to be our princess now,” Dick said. Gaston raised an eyebrow, defiant. Did that jerk think that he cared anymore whom Belle had decided to marry? “I'm sure she and the prince won't be happy to learn that you're still alive. But once they find out, you probably won't be for long.”

"You'd better hope that our people are the ones who who decide how to kill you and not the prince,” Jacques added. “The punishment for attacking a member of royalty is not the gallows, but something much, much worse.”

Gaston barely resisted after that. They were far from the town, and yet Gaston thought the trip had been one of the shortest in his life, knowing the fate that awaited him at the end of it. They had tied his hands with a rope, and, not happy with just that, they decided to tie another around his neck, so that they could pull him as if he were an animal. They forced him to walk towards the village, he at the head of the group, while they followed him closely on their horses. They laughed at him and beat him on the back with the ends of their rifles, as if they to remind him that they were armed and he wasn’t. If he walked too fast, they would pull the rope around his neck, cutting off his breath, and shouting insults.

When he reached the village, his humiliation didn’t end -- quite the contrary. They decided to parade him through each and every one of the streets, from the main roads to the narrowest alleys, shouting and insulting him. They had gained courage now that they were outside the forest, and one of them even dared to spit on him. Gaston clenched his fists and tried to calm down. If only he had his dagger, they wouldn't be laughing. There was a reason why he had been the most important man in that village. He had saved them all! Was this how they repaid him?

And Tom, Dick, and Jacques ... Well, Gaston had always suspected that they were jealous of him, and they wanted his leadership position, but they had never dared to challenge him. Obviously, the admiration they had had for him was fake.

The villagers, alerted by the shouts and the mockery, had gone out into the street to watch what was happening. Many joined in the shouting, others just laughed, a few fell silent.  
No one intervened or came to his aid.

The group ended up in the square, where everyone waited for the prévôt. The prévôt was in charge of delivering justice in the small village. He placed himself in the highest place of the square so that everyone could hear the crimes that the accused had committed, and after that he dictated his sentence. The village was too small for such events to be frequent, but when it did happen, everyone wanted to see and be part of it. So when he was dragged towards the square, he was not at all surprised by the influx of people who had concentrated there.

Gaston was thrown unceremoniously to the ground, at the foot of the prévôt. He feared that the stinging in his eyes were tears, so he lowered his head and closed his eyes, tightening his eyelids until he was sure that he was in no danger of shedding tears in front of all that crowd.

At least everything would be over soon.

He tried to move, but someone immediately planted one foot on his back, keeping him motionless on the ground. He shifted, turning quickly despite his tied hands, and threw that person to the ground. He was not even able to see who he was, for he was immediately restrained. This time they made sure to hold him between several people. He knew that the one next to him was Dick. Maybe it was Tom he'd thrown to the floor. Or Jacques. 

Gaston refused to be held like an animal waiting for his slaughter, so he thrashed until the villagers had no choice but to let him rise. He threw back his shoulders and raised his chin defiantly, with a grimace of disgust on his face, and glared at anyone who dared look directly into his eyes. They wanted him to fall -- well, he wasn’t going to do it, without a good fight. 

Everyone spoke at the same time, some shouting above others, and not even the prévôt was able to restore order. Each had a different opinion about what to do with Gaston, but all agreed it should be bad. They seemed to be enjoying the spectacle of seeing him fall into disgrace. The subject of the beast-turned-prince came and went, and Gaston caught a few more details of what had happened after his fall. Although he hadn't wanted to believe the story that Tom, Dick, and Jacques had told him, it seemed to be true. If Gaston really had attempted to kill a prince, then he was in serious trouble.

His only defense was that he did not know who the beast really was. And everything he did had been to ensure the safety of the village! They could not blame him for that! As for other crimes he might have committed ... well, yes, perhaps he had tied old Maurice to a tree and abandoned him in the woods, that was his fault ... Although they couldn’t prove it. 

Unless, of course, LeFou had betrayed him and told the truth.

But he wouldn’t do that.

Right?

Gaston couldn't help remembering how he had abandoned Lefou. But Lefou was so loyal...Gaston just couldn't imagine his friend betraying him, even so.

Perhaps Lefou had told someone only because he thought Gaston was dead. If that had been the case... well, he couldn’t exactly blame him.

“Hang him!” cried some of the villagers.

“NO! Lock him in a cell, without food, and throw away the key!”

“Cut off his head!”

Gaston closed his eyes. Whatever was coming, it was going to be hell.

Then, to his surprise, the crowd suddenly fell silent. He opened in eyes. In the middle of the commotion, the groups was parting let Maurice through to the front. He was riding on Philippe, Belle's faithful horse. When he reached Gaston, he dismounted and, to Gaston's shock, punched him hard in the face. 

“Where is she?!” Maurice asked angrily. “Where did you take her?”

Père Robert had to grab Maurice's arms and hold him back, for he was ready to strike him again. The surprise must have shown on Gaston's face, as well as on the faces of the rest of the villagers, who seemed to have no idea what Maurice was talking about. And that, far from appeasing the mood, only made Maurice more upset.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DAUGHTER?” he screamed.

“Maurice, what are you talking about?” someone asked from the crowd. “Belle is in the castle.”

“I JUST CAME FROM THE CASTLE!” Maurice shouted. “IT WAS ATTACKED LAST NIGHT! AND SOMEONE TOOK BELLE!!”

Gaston stepped back, his eyes wide. With everything that had happened, he had barely been able to think about everything that had happened to him last night, let alone attempt to solve the mystery of what had occurred. He remembered that he had been stabbed by one of the two attackers of the castle, and yet he had no visible wound.

Only a dagger stained with his own blood. Well, the dagger was now in the bottom of the river. 

What he hadn't known was that Belle was what those men were after. But why? Was she still alive? And the other inhabitants of the castle... what had happened to them? LEFOU! What if LeFou had been killed?

Panic must have been noticeable on his face. To his surprise, Agathe stepped out of the crowd and asked Maurice to step aside. When he did, Agatha stood in front of Gaston.

"Were you at the castle, Gaston?" she asked.

Gaston clenched his jaw and shook his head, not looking Agatha in the eye. She stood there, impassive, not letting any emotion cross her gaze. Gaston began to feel a little nervous.

“You weren’t?” Agatha asked. "No," he whispered. His voice was hoarse from disuse. He had barely noticed that he hadn’t spoken a word for weeks. 

"Have you been hiding in the woods all this time?" asked Père Robert.

“Yes. I haven’t been to the castle,” replied Gaston, somewhat defiant.

“And you expect us to believe that!” someone shouted in the crowd.

“KILL HIM!”

Père Robert raised his hands, trying to calm the crowd. "We will call the prince, and he will be the judge. After all, he was the person Gaston attacked, wasn’t he?" 

“The prince! No way! He has nothing to do here!” protested a villager.

“It was the prince who has suffered the attacks,” Père Robert repeated. “First Gaston led the attack on his castle, and now someone has kidnapped his future wife. He has every right to be here!”

“I didn't attack any prince! I just wanted to protect the village!” Gaston protested.

Some villagers laughed.

“Yes, of course!” laughed Tom. 

"Believe me, no one would have blamed you if you had managed to kill him. In fact, they would have made you a hero!" someone dared to say in the crowd.

“How dare you say that?” Maurice protested.

"Your daughter is crazy enough to defend him, but that doesn’t mean that the rest thinks he's a good person, Maurice! Nobody forgets how it used to be, how he always raised our taxes to buy things for the castle!"

“It's true!”

“You're right!”

“Prince Adam is not welcome here!”

All the shouting was followed by cries of agreement of the multitude, much to Gaston's surprise. No one had even clarified who Prince Adam was, but he seemed almost as hated as Gaston. More, even.

“Stop!” Père Robert shouted. "Stanley, why don’t you go to the castle to fetch Prince Adam?"

Stanley nodded quickly and ran off.

"And what do you expect us to do with Gaston?" someone asked.

"We'll lock him up in a cell until the prince decides what to do with him," Père Robert suggested.

Gaston thought the crowd would protest, but the minister's decision was immediately followed, albeit reluctantly. They picked him up and dragged him carelessly into one of the cells. The cells was hardly ever used. They were in the building designated for the village prévôt, but he had never considered it necessary to imprison anyone before pronouncing a sentence. 

The space was so small that even sitting on the floor, Gaston didn’t have enough space to stretch his injured leg. He sighed heavily, evaluating what to do, processing all the information he had heard in the square and trying to understand what was happening. The mystery of what had happened in the castle the previous night, and the prince who was once a beast, was becoming more and more complicated.

Then a small noise next to the bars of his cell caught his attention. He looked up to see Agathe looking at him earnestly from the other side, which startled Gaston, for he hadn’t heard her approaching. Only Agathe didn’t even look like herself. Something surrounded her... something different.

Powerful.

“You lied!” she accused him.

“Huh?” he managed to say, without understanding.

“You have been to the castle, Gaston. Twice. And don’t you dare say no, because the second time, I had to get you out of there myself!” she exclaimed.

Gaston, almost involuntarily, put his hand to his chest where the wound had been.

“Yes, it was me,” Agathe confirmed. “It was also me the first time, or did you think that you could heal yourself from that fall?”

Not knowing how to respond, Gaston just opened and closed his mouth several times, completely stunned.

"I have not saved your life to throw away the first opportunity you have for redemption!"

“THEN GET ME OUT OF HERE!!” Gaston shouted. “Get me out of here and I'll go! I will never come back!”

"Surely you don’t think I saved your life because you deserved it, or out of the mere goodness of my heart, do you?” she answered coldly. Gaston was silent. “I have seen your future, Gaston. You're part of something bigger -- a key piece, I dare say. You've made so many bad decisions that I thought you'd be able to improve. The season in the woods should have helped you. But apparently not, since you're still lying.”

"Do you really think that I’m going to tell everyone I was in the castle?" He asked incredulously. "They'll think I kidnapped Belle!"

“Don’t they think that already?”

Again, Gaston was speechless.

"Why don’t you start by admitting the truth? Why did you actually go to the castle?"

"I just wanted to teach those men a lesson."

"You don’t have to lie to me, Gaston!"

“It's true! I’m not lying! Now get me out of here!” he demanded.

Agathe laughed. “Oh, no, of course not. I've already intervened far too much, when I shouldn’t have. From now on everything, depends on you and your actions.”

“So why did you save me, then?”

“Redemption, Gaston. You have to find the right path. Learn to care about others. Learn the consequences of your actions.”

“For what?” He asked angrily.

Agathe broke away from the bars of her cell. “We'll see if you ask the same thing when this is all over. Because I will visit you again, Gaston. And I promise you, if I believe that you have not changed at all, I will reverse all my actions.”

For the first time since Agathe had appeared, Gaston was afraid. “What does that mean?” he asked in a whisper.

Agathe did not respond, but simply moved her hands. Immediately, Gaston felt a deep pain piercing his chest, as if...

As if someone had stabbed a dagger to him.

"Witchcraft," he whispered faintly. 

The pain abruptly ceased, and Gaston was able to breathe again normally. Frightened, he stepped back until his back was pressed against the wall of the cell. “You were the one that put the spell on the castle…” he said in realization. 

"Do not forget that your life is in my hands, Gaston,” she warned him. “This is your only opportunity for redemption. Do not miss it.”

“I refuse to be a part of your game!” he cried angrily.

“I'm afraid you have no choice,” she said calmly. “For more than one reason. In addition to your own life, I see that there's someone else you're worried about. Someone you want to...protect... Am I wrong?”

Agathe suddenly disappeared in front of his astonished eyes, as if she had never been there. He was definitely going crazy. The forest, no doubt, had caused it. Or maybe it was the fall from the castle – he had bashed his head and now suffered from visions. But why was it Agathe that he imagined as a sort of... enchantress?

He shook his head from side to side and gave a bitter laugh, wanting to erase the memory of Agathe's visit as soon as possible. It didn’t make the slightest sense. He had no idea why he was living this elaborate hallucination. It had not been real. It was not possible. No.

But...what if it was real? 

Gaston, overwhelmed, tried to move, but the space of that cell was too small. And his hands were still tied.

At least he was alone.

Wait a minute...

He was alone!

He stood up so quickly that his shoulder banged against one of the walls of the cell so hard that he had to bite his lower lip to not scream in pain. Without losing a moment, he looked around, trying to find something he could use to escape. Seeing that his tied hands were a great disadvantage, he decided to begin with that first: he separated his wrists as much as he could, until the rope was so firmly biting into his skin that it seemed to want to merge with his skin. He tried to pull one of his hands out, but it was painful; the rope was so firm that the smallest movement burned him. He clenched his jaw and, almost without giving himself time to think, quickly yanked his hand out of the knot. The rope stuck in the middle of his hand. Forcefully, he kept jerking hard until he was able to pull it off completely. Gaston threw the rope to the ground, Then thought better of it. He picked up the rope and tied it to his belt. They had confiscated his useless gun and his dagger, so he had nothing to defend himself with. Maybe the rope could be useful.  
His hands were raw, scraped, and bruised, and they ached a lot, but he would have to put up with it. At least his feet had not been tied. The rope around his neck had also been removed, so now he only had to figure out how to get out of that cell and run as fast as he could.

He took went to the cell gate and pushed the bars, trying to find out its resistance. The bars squeaked and moved. Gaston thought that, perhaps, he could push the door of the cell far enough to pull it out of its hinges. He was about to do that when they arrived.

They were two men, well-dressed in the most expensive fabrice. One of them had pale skin, blond hair, and first vestiges of a beard. His eyes were blue, and though the man was unknown to Gaston, there was something familiar in that look. The other man, however, was no stranger at all. Gaston's breath caught, and his heart skipped a beat.

"LeFou ..." he whispered.

“Gaston,” said his old friend.


	4. Chapter 4

Gaston studied Lefou, looking him over to see if he had any injury from the attack on the castle the previous night, but was relieved to see that at first glance, his friend seemed unscathed.

Then he realized that Lefou wasn't meeting his eyes. In fact, he seemed to be avoiding looking at Gaston at all, and he kept his distance. Nor did he speak.

_He must feel guilty for forgetting about me so soon,_ Gaston tried to reassure himself. _He's been living happily in the castle, even though he thought I was dead. He thinks I'm angry with him – that's why he won't look at me. Well, I AM angry with him! But I'll forgive him, if he's sorry. He IS my oldest friend, after all._

He tried to catch Lefou's eye, to smile reassuringly. But Lefou still refused to look at him. Gaston realized that bothered him. A lot, in fact.

No word had been spoken by any of those present, and the tension was palpable. Gaston didn’t want to look away from LeFou, even though LeFou had his eyes fixed on the floor.

The other man in the room was watching, his gaze moving back and forth from from Gaston to LeFou, waiting for either of them to do something. Seeing that neither of them was willing to say anything, he grew impatient and stepped forward to Gaston's cell.

”Where is Belle?” he demanded.

Gaston blinked in confusion. “Who are you?”

“Prince Adam,” the man snapped.

Gaston smirked. “Ah. The 'horrible prince,'” he said. “Do you expect a bow?”

“Sorry?”

“That's what everyone in the village calls the prince who lives in the castle. I assume you are the horrible prince, aren’t you?”

Gaston didn’t even know why he was using such a hostile tone with a royal prince who literally had Gaston's his life in his hands. It wasn't the smartest thing to do. But he was upset that LeFou hadn’t reacted to his presence, and he needed to take it out on someone, and this stranger was a convenient target. I'm here! he wanted to shout at LeFou. Do something!

The prince, far from being annoyed by Gaston's words, lowered his shoulders and frowned. He shifted abruptly, and Gaston swore he heard a hiss of pain. He examined the prince, seeking the reason for such a sound, but without success.

“Where's Belle?” the prince repeated. He was pretending to be calm, but his hands betrayed him. He clenched his fists tightly, trying to keep them out of sight. It was obvious that he was trying to suppress his emotions.

“I don’t know,” Gaston answered defiantly. “I didn’t take her.”

“You were in the woods!” shouted the prince, losing his composure.

Almost immediately LeFou grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the bars of the cell. He whispered something that was completely inaudible to Gaston, but he didn’t care what it was. He couldn't keep his eyes off the two. LeFou was talking soothingly, calming the prince down in exactly the same way as he used to calm Gaston. A sudden flare of jealousy surged in Gaston. Why did LeFou and the prince have such a good relationship? Why was LeFou touching the prince’s shoulder? Why was all of LeFou's attention on the prince and not on him? Why was his old friend ignoring him completely?

The prince took a breath and composed himself, then approached the cell again. “You tried to kill me once,” he pointed out. “How do I know that you didn't try again last night?”

Gaston turned his gaze to his nails, as if they were the most interesting thing in the world, appearing unconcerned. The prince grunted, but Gaston ignored him.

“All I did was try to rid my village of the danger of having a monstrous beast living nearby. You know, claws, fangs…what if that beast had come to the village? Oh, the children!

Who would have protected the children! ” Gaston smirked, delighted to see that the prince was gradually losing his temper.

"What you did to Maurice ..." the prince began.

That did rattle Gaston. He looked at LeFou anxiously. Had LeFou told the prince that Gaston had tied Maurice to a tree in the middle of the forest and left him to be killed by wolves? If the prince sent for the prévôt and both LeFou and Maurice told the story, Gaston would be sentenced to death. There wasn't even a question about that.

But Gaston couldn't let them see how worried he was. So he straightened up until his head almost touched the ceiling, raised his chin, and crossed his arms over his chest to hide his nervousness. He had to work hard to control the tremor that had gripped his hands, trying to appear as confident as he had been in the past. Yes, maybe his clothes were dirty and torn, his boots were full of mud, his hair was matted and shorter than he had been at his best, and perhaps the beard had already conquered his cheeks, but that didn’t mean that he was going to let them think that he was in one of his weakest moments. Neither the prince nor LeFou were ignorant of what had happened to him in the last weeks, but he preferred to die before appearing defeated in front of them.

Even if it was one of the lowest moments of his life.

“Well?” the prince demanded impatiently. “What do you have to say for yourself? What you did to Maurice--”

“I did nothing, except try to help him!” Gaston interrupted. The best defense was a strong offense, he decided. “Maurice told me that he needed my help because his daughter had just been kidnapped by a horrible beast that had her locked up in an enchanted castle.” He stepped closer to the bars, staring challengingly into the prince's eyes. “You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?”

He was gratified to see the prince look guilty for a moment. Gaston felt triumphant. But not for long. The prince shook his head angrily and shouted in rage, “I don’t care about that right now! Tell me where Belle is!”

Suddenly, the prince's hand went to his chest and his breathing became a little laboured. Almost immediately he turned, hiding from Gaston's sight, but it was too late; Gaston had noticed his weakness.

"Are you all right, Your Highness?" he asked mockingly. "You're not used to spending so much time standing, are you? Why do you not bring your throne here? I heard that you ordered a throne of gold to match all the gold you stole from the villagers ... is that true?"

The prince no longer tried to keep his composure, nor to hide himself; He clutched his chest with both hands without hiding his pain. Slowly he hunched forward, taking deep breaths until he could breathe normally again. LeFou, leaning next to him, supervised the prince's breathing and then helped him straighten up again. The prince did not seem to have the energy to face Gaston again, so, with a gesture, he urged LeFou to be the one who approached Gaston's cell.

Lefou stepped forward, and for the first time, his gaze met Gaston's. In his friend's eyes, Gaston was started to see not guilt or apology, but anger and accusation. Gaston took an involuntary step backward. He suddenly felt fearful. He discovered, much to his dismay, that he didn’t want to have to justify himself to his old friend, but apparently he didn’t have a choice.

“It wasn’t me!” Gaston said hastily, before LeFou could speak. "I'm not interested in Belle anymore! I don’t care what happens to her! I just want to be left alone.”

LeFou stared at him steadily, as if evaluating the truth of that statement, and then nodded and looked at the prince. They seemed to be communicating with their looks, and that was something that annoyed Gaston. He frowned and wrinkled his nose, glaring at the prince.

LeFou shifted position, and his arm brushed the bars of the cell. He hissed in pain, and Gaston, worried, reached through the bars, trying to touch LeFou's arm.

“Are you injured?!” he exclaimed. To his deep disgust, he sounded hysterically frightened. But LeFou quickly pulled his arm away, as if Gaston's simple touch could burn his skin, and Gaston's hand closed on only air. Gaston tried not to let his face show how much that simple gesture had hurt him, but he didn’t do a good job. There was no way to hide from his features how much it hurt that the one who had been his friend for so long didn’t want even the simplest contact from him. The prince was watching closely, and Gaston hated that he might have realized that LeFou was one of his weak points.

“It’s not serious,” LeFou said then, not looking at him. “You taught me to defend myself.”

“I taught you to hide,” Gaston countered.

LeFou just shrugged.

"Look,” Gaston whispered, willing his friend to look at him. “I would never hurt you, LeFou. You know that.”

Suddenly, LeFou turned on him. “Do I?” he snapped. “I remember that you left me under a harpsichord, in the middle of a battle against household objects that were beating us up! I reached out to you, begging for your help. But no - it was 'hero time,' wasn’t it?” He sneered, more furious than Gaston had ever seen him. “I also remember that when I tried to tell you that I didn't like what we were doing, you threatened to lock me up with Belle and Maurice! SO EXCUSE ME IF I DON’T BELIEVE YOU!”

Gaston swallowed. He stepped back from the bars of the cell, uncomfortable. He hadn’t realized until then the repercussions that his actions had had on his old friend, even though he was aware that somehow he had hurt him. He hadn’t even given much thought to all that he had done and said during the last moments before the battle in the castle, but he could recognize now that he had been an idiot. Perhaps Agathe was right that he needed to change…LeFou's reaction was proof of it. Unfortunately, his friend still had a lot to say.

"I don’t even think you ever thought of me in all this time you've been in the woods," LeFou whispered. Gaston closed his eyes. He preferred hearing LeFou shout at him instead of the soft, hurt tone of voice his friend was using now. “You only think about yourself.”

That wounded Gaston deeply. Hurt by LeFou’s words and overcome with guilt, he dealt with his discomfort the only way he knew how: by letting the familiar rage take possession of him.

“Me? What about you? You weren’t even affected by my death! You thought I had died, and you didn’t even care! You were laughing, and playing, and running happily around that stupid castle, weeks after that night! Don't try to deny it – I saw you! SO YOU DIDN’T THINK ABOUT ME EITHER!” he shouted.

“Aha!” It was the prince who broke the tense atmosphere, approaching the cell with a triumphant grin. “So you did go to the castle! I knew it!”

Gaston realised the mistake he had made as soon as the words left the prince’s mouth. He wanted to kick himself for that horrible mistake, already regretting the fact that he had let his feelings take control of him. He narrowed his eyes, fixing his gaze on LeFou. Well, it was too late to lie. Better come clean and get it over with.

“All right! Yes. I went there,” he said. “But it was only because I overheard someone near the river gossiping about LeFou moving to the castle with Belle and a horrible prince..

They were saying that Stanley was upset by that decision.”

LeFou’s cheeks coloured faintly in a shade of red. He didn’t bother to hide his discomfort.

“I just wanted to check on LeFou, that's all. I’d never attack a castle full of people -- I’m not a fool!” Gaston added.

The prince weighed this. Finally he asked LeFou, “Do you trust him?” LeFou didn’t answer, which hurt Gaston even more. Okay, LeFou was mad at him, he could understand that...but his friend didn't trust him at all anymore? The prince went on, “There was a dagger and a pistol on him when he was found in the woods. He could have been there last night.”

Finally LeFou shook his head. “No. I believe him. It wasn’t him.” Gaston sighed with relief.

But the prince was not so easily convinced. “NO! I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT. IT WAS HIM! IT HAS TO BE HIM!” the prince shouted, his rage returning. “HE ALWAYS WANTED BELLE FOR HIMSELF! HE IS THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD HAVE DONE IT!”

LeFou said in a reasonable tone, “Lumière saw the attacker. If we wait until he wakes up, we can ask him if Gaston was the one who took Belle.”

“I can't wait for Lumiere to wake up! The doctor doesn't know when that will be!” the prince protested. ” He gestured at Gaston. “He has to know something! HE HAS TO!!!”

For an instant, Gaston felt a little bad for being a witness to the prince’s desperation. He remained silent, though, observing how that prince was breaking down in front of his own eyes. LeFou was also upset, letting the prince lean on his shoulders, as the prince couldn’t even stand. Silence surrounded them, only interrupted by the sound of their breaths.

“We could ask in the nearby villages,” LeFou suggested. “I'm sure Belle has tried to escape. Maybe someone has seen something.”

The prince, disappointed, didn’t even have the strength to nod. He stood up, though still leaning on LeFou, and both of them went to the door, ignoring Gaston, ready to leave. Just before crossing the door, LeFou glanced at Gaston, and their eyes met. Perhaps the guilt was shown in his face, as LeFou stepped back into his cell and softened his gaze.

Gaston sighed, dropping his shoulders in surrender.

"Gaston ..." LeFou whispered, totally vulnerable. “I’m begging you. If you know anything, even if it’s the smallest thing, please…tell me.”

He didn’t know what was the last straw, whether it was the pleas of his friend or whether it was the voice of Agatha, present in his mind, that demanded that he tell the truth, but finally, he decided to tell them everything. He lowered his head, leaning against the bars, careful not to touch LeFou, despite how much he longed for his contact. He put a hand to his chest, remembering the agony of feeling the dagger in his chest.

“Yesterday, while I was sleeping in the woods, I was woken up suddenly by the sound of horses. At first I thought it was a lost traveller, so I didn’t give it too much importance, but when I heard them approaching my shelter, I hid in the trees.” He was whispering, not even looking up, as if he wanted to get away from reality. He could feel the prince approaching, wanting to hear his story better, but decided to ignore him. “They were two men, dressed in black. It was dark out, but they had no torches or lanterns, which means that they knew the forest well, and they did not want to be seen. It was they who attacked the castle.”

The prince moved unexpectedly, breaking Gaston's concentration. “Did you see any of them clearly?” he demanded.

“The almost killed me,” Gaston continued, not answering the prince’s question. “They passed through the place where I had been sleeping and trampled it. I realized they had to know the woods well, but hadn’t been there recently, because if they had been around the woods in the last weeks, they should have noticed that I was living there.”  
“Yes, yes, but did you see them?” the prince impatiently asked again.

Gaston looked at LeFou. His former friend softened his gaze and passed a hand through the bars in the cell, touching his arm softly. Gaston almost sighed at the contact, grateful for the touch.

Then LeFou spoke his name, in a thin whisper, and that made his skin prickle. “Gaston? What did you see? Please, tell us.”

“I followed them,” Gaston admitted. “I followed them to the castle, because I wanted to take revenge on them for almost killing me. One of them saw me, so I fought him. He was dark-haired, had blue eyes, and a thick beard. A lot of scars on the left side of his face.”

The prince perked up at this description and didn’t even bother to hide his joy at finally having something concrete to go on. LeFou, however, had noticed how Gaston had held his hands to his chest throughout his confession, and frowned.

“Did he hurt you?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he reached his arm into the cell and grabbed Gaston's shirt, noticing for the first time the enormous hole in the chest area. But he could see that underneath, Gaston's skin was smooth and firm, without any injury.

“What…?” LeFou asked, puzzled.

Gaston said nothing, just pulled away and shrugged slightly, trying to hide.

“I'm not hurt,” he said.

"You hurt him, then?"

"No," Gaston said, his voice low. He didn't want to tell them about Agathe. “I didn’t. It doesn’t matter. You already got what you wanted, didn't you?”

LeFou stepped backwards, as if he had remembered suddenly where he was. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable. “Well,” he said, looking at the prince. “I think we know where to start, then.”

The prince turned, ready to leave as soon as possible. Gaston grunted, catching his attention. He arched an eyebrow, expectant, but the prince only looked at him in confusion.

“What?” the prince said.

Gaston sighed, rolling his eyes. “My punishment?” he prodded. “That's why they summoned you here in the first place, isn't it?” he said. Even if the prince had temporarily forgotten, he would have remembered soon enough. Gaston didn't relish spending weeks in suspense. Whatever they were going to do to him, he wanted to know now.  
Realization crossed the prince's face, causing Gaston to snort. The grimace of disgust had returned to his face. He wondered what his end would be. The gallows, perhaps? Although the punishment for attacking royalty was supposedly worse, Gaston expected him to consider his cooperation and be benevolent. Then again, the villagers had warned him of the prince's cruelty, so he didn’t hope too much for a light sentence.

The prince hesitated, as if he couldn’t reach a decision.

"May I suggest something?" said LeFou humbly. The prince nodded, though he looked somewhat disconcerted. LeFou offered, “He could come with us. He saw the attacker and would recognize him. He could be helpful.”

The prince scoffed, "And how do I know he will not try to kill me again as soon as I turn my back, LeFou? I not even sure if what he said about the attack is true.”

"Well, we had already suspected that it was two men, at least,” LeFou pointed out. “You heard the horses yourself, so we know he didn’t lie about that either. And I doubt that Gaston would have stayed in the woods after the attack, had it been him. He would have taken Belle and gone far, far away. But he was found in the woods, alone.”

The prince considered that. “I'm still not sure he's not going to kill me.”

LeFou shrugged. "Then don’t give him any weapons.”

The prince looked at him closely. “Do you trust him, LeFou? Do you really trust him?”

Gaston held his breath, waiting for LeFou's answer.

Then...LeFou nodded. Gaston felt the corners of his lips rise slightly. He felt as though a weight had been lifted off his chest.

“All right. But it will be your responsibility,” the prince decided, sounding a bit annoyed. He turned to Gaston, frowning. “You will come with us. But be warned: if I find out you lied to me, you will go to the gallows. If you attack us, you will go to the gallows. And if you try to flee, you will also go to the gallows. You will help us find Belle, and once we are back, I will give you a horse and you will leave this region, with the promise never to return. Do you accept your sentence?”

Gaston looked at LeFou. To his disappointment, his old friend again was not looking at him. Though the idea had been his, he did not seem too pleased. Gaston knew he had to take this deal – as what fool would reject such a proposition? He was being let off easy. But he wanted to know the opinion of his friend. But unfortunately, LeFou was ignoring him again.

Gaston made his decision. If exile was to be his only punishment, he could accept it.

Although he couldn’t explain why an unfamiliar and unpleasant feeling had just settled at the base of his stomach.

“I accept,” he finally said, closing the deal.

LeFou dropped his shoulders. Even before the prince opened the door to Gaston's cell, he had left.


	5. Chapter 5

LeFou and the prince had arrived in a horse-drawn carriage. It was quite modest, decent-sized but not enormous, and without much adornment. Gaston was relieved  that they had not brought a fully decorated royal coach; the last thing he wanted was to attract more attention (and never in a million years had he dreamed he'd ever have THAT thought).

_I'm sure this carriage was LeFou's idea_ , he thought. _The horrible prince would surely have brought the fanciest carriage he has._

LeFou waited by the horses. Prince Adam started to walk in Gaston's direction, but was intercepted by the prévôt, who asked to have a word with him. Gaston could tell that they were talking about his sentence. With the prince occupied, he saw a perfect opportunity to approach his old friend. But LeFou was clearly aware of his intentions and quickly turned to attend to the horses, without even disguising his discomfort. Gaston ignored the fact that his friend probably didn’t want to talk to him and kept walking in his direction, only to stop abruptly: Stanley, who seemed to have come out of nowhere, had just placed himself at LeFou's side, and now they were both talking and smiling at each other.

And then Stanley put a hand on LeFou's shoulder.

Gaston saw red.

If Prince Adam hadn’t finished explaining the details of Gaston’s sentence to the prévôt and advanced to the carriage, joining LeFou and Stanley and interrupting their conversation, Gaston would have done something he would have regretted later. He was angry, but he could not understand why. With an effort, he swallowed his anger. He could not wait to get out of that village, finish everything as soon as possible, and go _away._ Go away as far as possible. LeFou could stay with Stanley or the horrible prince, for all he cared.

But leaving the village was not that easy. Even though the prince urged Gaston to leave with them as soon as possible, none of them had anticipated the angry mob.

While Gaston had been busy glaring at Stanley, the prévôt had gone into the town square and announced Gaston's punishment aloud, so that everyone could find out. Although not too many people were in the square at that time, many of the villagers crossed the street that separated the square from the prévôt’s building to complain to the prince about the punishment. None seemed happy with the sentence, which they described as unfair. Gaston could not even believe how hypocritical they were being. The crime of which they accused him -- they had _all_ committed it! They should _all_ be condemned! _All_ of them should be exiled from the village! The only thing unfair was that he was the only one forced to leave!

Maurice also appeared, glaring at Gaston and trying to reach him,  but at first the angry mob was in his way. Once they noticed him, the crowd parted to let him through and  fell silent to hear what he had to say. Everyone was surprised when the old man's anger was directed not at Gaston, but at the prince.

“You're going to let him go???” he accused. “AFTER HE TOOK BELLE???”

“Maurice, calm down,” said Père Robert.

“HE TOOK BELLE!” Maurice repeated.

"I _didn’t_ take Belle!" Gaston protested angrily. “Why would I want to do that? She ruined my life! Good riddance to her!”

The prince started to explain, "Maurice, Gaston says he saw two strangers in the woods--" But Maurice interrupted.

“I’m sure that he's lying!” Maurice snapped.  “He's always been a liar!”

 Lefou spoke up. “I know.” Gaston shot him a hurt look. Even _Lefou_ thought he was a liar? Lefou went on, “But he's telling the truth now.”

“Oh, what a surprise -- LeFou defending Gaston!” Tom said sarcastically. "It doesn’t matter if you defend him. I'm sure he's the one who took Belle!"

LeFou, annoyed, crossed his arms. "Were you there to know that Gaston was the one who took her?"

"He's been hiding in the woods for weeks, surely planning revenge!" cried Jacques.

“ _Revenge?”_ shouted Gaston mockingly. “You are insignificant to me! You, Belle, the prince – the whole lot of you! I want nothing to do with this village or anyone in it!”

"Then why did you stay?" asked Dick, grinning from ear to ear, as if he had caught Gaston in a lie.

Gaston scowled. “That's none of your business!” he retorted.

“That's enough!” the prince suddenly shouted. “We have to leave. NOW!”

“But it's not _fair!”_ Jacques protested. “He  tied Maurice to a tree, he led an attack on the castle, he tried to kill you, and now he's kidnapped Belle... and you just give him a pat on the back? He must go to the gallows!”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK, OR IF YOU THINK IT IS UNFAIR!” roared the prince, causing the villagers to flinch at his tremendous display of rage. “WE ARE GOING! NOW!”

“But, my prince...!” Maurice began to protest.

“Not now!” the prince snapped. “My only priority right now is Belle!”

“She’s also my priority!” Maurice protested.

“THEN LET ME GO FIND HER!”

The prince quickly got into the carriage, but his movements were too abrupt. He put his hand to his chest and took several slow, deep breaths. Both Gaston and LeFou immediately realized that something was wrong, but they only realized it because they knew the prince was hurt. Too the villagers, the gesture merely appeared to be  a way to calm down, when in fact it was a gesture to calm the pain he felt from his injuries. Gaston worried, for if the prince suddenly collapsed in front of everyone, the villagers could interpret that to mean that the prince was not in any shape to issue a sentence, and thus they could revoke the prince’s decision regarding Gaston’s punishment, with which they clearly didn’t agree. Quickly, without losing any time,Gaston climbed into the back of the carriage and squeezed into a narrow space next to several sacks, feeling his injured leg complain of pain. LeFou hurried up, too, sitting down next to the prince. LeFou barely had time to get settled before the prince urged the horses into a trot, heading for the woods.

“Take care, LeFou!” Stanley shouted.

He seemed to be the only one who was willing to say goodbye to them. Many of the villagers seemed to be suppressing the urge to go after them. LeFou waved goodbye to Stanley. Gaston clenched his teeth in annoyance.

"Are you sure of what that boy said?” the prince asked LeFou. “Did he really see those two men heading east?”

"No," said LeFou. “Stanley says two men stopped at the tavern yesterday afternoon.  He remembers that one of them had huge scars on his face. It sounds like the same guy Gaston says he saw. A man like that is hard to forget. The men said they would leave to the east today, but Stanley didn't actually _see_ them go.”

“So we can only rely on what these men said...which may well be a lie,” the prince sighed. “And all this counting on what _this one_ has said, which I still don’t know if it is the truth.” His comment was accompanied by a contemptuous gesture at Gaston, which irritated Gaston's nerves.

“I have a name -- use it,” Gaston snarled. “Anyway, we're never going to get to the east.”

“Why?” the prince asked, frowning.

“Because you're going straight south!”

The prince's cheeks colored slightly. He pulled the reins and stopped the horses, handing the reins to LeFou, to his surprise. Lefou corrected the course, while the prince turned enough to keep Gaston in his range of vision. He said nothing, just glared at him. His position must have been rather uncomfortable, especially since he was wounded.

“East is dangerous,” the prince said. "Everyone knows there are always riots there.”

“Smuggling routes pass by there.” Gaston shrugged. “Of course it's dangerous.”

Gaston tried to change his posture, but he did not have much space to do so. He looked around at the immeasurable amount of things around him packed in sacks. He didn’t even know who had packed so much. The prince and LeFou had been with him all the time, so it had not been them. So why did they have the carriage ready for a trip?

“Whose is all this?” asked Gaston, raising a crossbow from one of the sacks.

“LEAVE THAT THERE!” snapped the prince.

Gaston laughed, putting the crossbow back in the sack. The prince, agitated, gasped several times, clutching his chest. He was having trouble breathing again. It took him some time to regulate his breathing again, and all the time he kept his hands on his chest. LeFou worriedly watched him, still guiding the horses.

“You're injured. How serious is it?” Gaston asked once the prince's breathing became normal. “Were the attackers yesterday the ones who hurt you?”

The prince turned his back on him.

“You have not answered my questions,” Gaston pressed.

“Why should I?” the prince asked, not looking at him.

“I thought you wanted to find Belle.”

"You do not need to know the gravity of my injuries to find Belle,” the prince said.

"I need to know if it's going to be a problem," Gaston retorted, glaring at him.

“I'm fine!” growled the prince. "Why don’t _you_ tell us instead how you managed to escape unscathed from a confrontation with the men who attacked the castle? Or _was_ there no such confrontation?”

"That's none of your business!" Gaston said defensively.

“It is if you're lying to me!” the prince snapped.

Gaston clenched his fists, but the prince still had his back to him. The three of them remained silent as they travelled along the winding roads, accompanied only by the sounds of the horses' hooves. LeFou looked uncomfortable, judging by the tension in his shoulders, but kept busy with the horses. He did not turn to look at Gaston once.

The prince also kept busy looking forward, tense, lost in thought. He frowned and clenched his hands, and groaned between his teeth whenever the carriage hit a bump in the road. Gaston looked at him for a while, but soon he got bored and began to peer into  the sacks around him, trying to find something to entertain himself with.

The prince glanced at him out of the corner of his eye whenever he made too sudden a movement, but Gaston was a master at concealing what he was doing. The first sack held only some clothing, some combs, and the crossbow he had seen earlier. In the second, he found more weapons: a sword, several pistols, and a small rifle. Another sack was full of blankets and unimportant things. There was even a music box among all the unusual things. He lifted a chalice he found, frowning and looking at it in confusion. Why had they loaded the carriage with this odd assortment of things? In the last sack, however, in addition to some apples, he found a knife, which he quickly slipped into his boot.

_LeFou told the prince not to give me weapons, but he didn’t say anything about taking them myself,_ he thought.

They had been travelling for several hours when LeFou stopped the horses near a stream so they could rest and drink water. Gaston jumped out of the carriage, grateful to be able to stretch his legs. He tested his injured leg and discovered with joy that it seemed to be somewhat stronger. Soon he would be able to walk again normally.

_Incredible_ , he thought, _after how much I've forced it these past few weeks._

LeFou hastened to bring some water to the prince, using the chalice Gaston had previously found. The prince did not even move from his place in the carriage. Gaston snorted, rolling his eyes. _Typical royal, expecting to be waited on hand and foot. Why doesn’t he get the water himself?_

Gaston was bored from sitting still for too long in the same place, so he began to look around. He walked along the stream, toying with the rope in his belt, which no one had taken away yet. The prince grunted warningly as he went too far, but Gaston did not stop. He slowed down, though.

He was hungry. He looked out into the stream, and was pleased to see  that it was full of fish. He picked up a fallen, narrow tree branch, split it in half, whittled the end to a sharp point with the knife he'd hidden, and peered closely at the stream, waiting for his chance quietly, without making too sudden movements. Soon he had caught a specimen large enough to satisfy his appetite, so he sat on the ground and used two stones to make a fire. He cooked the fish on the fire with ease. He could hear LeFou, a few feet away, talking to the prince in whispers. He hated that they interacted with each other so closely, as if they were best friends.

He wrinkled his nose, annoyed, keeping his fish by the fire, so that it finished cooking. He had partially burned it on one side when he decided that it was already edible, and that he could remove it from the fire. LeFou was, of course, a much better cook than he was, and he could have made a delicious dish with that fish, despite the few resources available. Gaston was experienced at camping out, and had fended for himself during his time hiding in the woods, but his culinary skills still needed improvement.

It didn't occur to him that the other two didn't have much in the way of food until he realized that they were looking at him with envy. The prince was biting an apple, perhaps too hard, glaring at him. Gaston chuckled, feeling smug. He would probably have caught some fish for them, too, if they had asked for it, but of course they would never do that. Gaston suspected that the prince's pride could rival his, which he grudgingly respected. If the positions were reversed, he would not have asked for any food either.

He returned to the carriage once he finished his meal, curling up and closing his eyes, feeling satisfied as the rays of the sun streamed through the branches of the trees and gently caressed his face. He grinned mockingly when he heard  the prince's stomach rumble. Gaston had to work hard enough not to burst out laughing. The situation seemed comical to him. They had loaded up the carriage with all manner of random objects, but the only edible things they had brought were a few apples.

"Why haven’t we found a village yet, LeFou?" the prince asked, interrupting Gaston’s thoughts.

“Because there is no village near here,” Gaston replied before LeFou could do it, still with his eyes closed. "You really are a horrible prince if you don't even know where the villages of your subjects are!"

Gaston opened one eye to see Prince Adam's reaction. He looked like he was struggling to control his rage. Gaston grinned.  He had thought the trip was going to be tedious, but he was  finding ways to entertain himself with the prince.

“Make yourself comfortable, Your Highness,” he continued mockingly. "We will not reach any village until the sun goes down."

“We don't even know if we're going the right way!” the prince said in frustration. “How do we know those men came this way?”

"Stanley said they were going east, and this is the only way east,” LeFou said.

“The road is full of hoofprints,” Gaston added. “Someone has come through here recently.”

"But how do we know those men were the ones who passed through here?" insisted the prince.

“You'll have to trust,” LeFou said softly. He sighed. “Your Highness, calm down. I promise we'll find Belle.”

The prince suddenly had a thought, and said hopefully, “Belle is smart and resourceful, Maybe she's already managed to escape those men.”

“Hopefully _not,”_ Gaston commented.

The prince turned on him, furious. “DO YOU WANT HER TO DIE?” he shouted, then winced from the pain.

Gaston rolled his eyes. “Of course not!”  _Idiot_ , he wanted to add, but bit his tongue. “The forest is dangerous. The wolves could attack her. She'd be better off waiting to escape till they reach a village, where she can find someone to help her. I don't think Belle has much experience surviving in the woods.”

“No, of course you're the expert on _that_ , right?” the prince said pointedly.

“I'm just trying to help,” Gaston muttered. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner I can go.”

On the one hand, Gaston kept repeating that he wanted to finish this search as soon as possible, so that he could get away and go some place where no one could relate him to the village again. But on the other hand, there was something that tied him firmly to Villeneuve, as if an invisible rope held him back at the place that had been his home throughout his life. But he couldn't figure out exactly _what_ was holding him to the village, or what he would miss if he left..

The sun was beginning to fade between the tops of the tallest trees, and Gaston was getting terribly bored. He whistled for a while, lost interest, juggled with apples, got tired of that too. Then as he idly glance around for something else to do, his attention was caught by a square object slightly protruding from beneath one of the sacks. Curious, he carefully pulled it out. He was annoyed to discover that it was just a book.

He grunted in disappointment. The sound caught the prince’s attention, and he glanced at Gaston. When he realized what he was holding, he turned so quickly that he lost his balance and almost fell out of the carriage. LeFou, frightened, brought horses to a halt as the prince regained his balance. He snatched the book from Gaston with a swipe, shoving him back, and held the book close to his chest, protecting it.

“HOW MANY TIMES DO I NEED TO TELL YOU NOT TO TOUCH ANYTHING?!”

Gaston was surprised, but not so much as to not react.

“Are you crazy? It's just a book!” he exclaimed. “You almost made us turn around!”

The prince glared at him. “This book is Belle's, and you have no right to put your dirty hands on it!”

Gaston glared back. “It's just a book! If you're so worried about my 'dirty hands' all over it, just go buy another! Heaven knows you have the money!”

“Stop arguing, _please!”_ LeFou asked, afraid where this might lead. Both of his companions were not known for controlling their tempers.

The prince snarled, “I will stop arguing when _he_ sits quietly and stops poking around in things that don't belong to him!  I allowed him to come _only_ to find Belle, but he hasn't done anything to prove that what he said is the truth. And as Maurice said, we already _know_ he's a liar. He'd say _anything_ to get out of trouble! I'm seriously beginning to doubt that those so-called 'men in black' he spoke of really _were_ the ones who took her!” 

Gaston was so furious that he got to his feet and jumped out of the carriage. Instead of answering loudly, which was what the prince expected, he lowered his voice, adopting his most mocking, sneering tone, the one he reserved only for those people he really wanted to destroy. Slowly approaching the prince, in the same way that a hunter approaches his prey, he began the deliberate task of ending the patience of the prince.

“Maybe you're right – maybe they _didn't_ kidnap her. Maybe it was just your ploy to get _rid_ of her, and now you're playing the role of worried betrothed,” he said. He knew it wasn't true, but it was worth throwing that out there just to see the prince’s face. "Or maybe it was the other way around: maybe it was _Belle_ who hired these men to help her flee the castle because it was the only way  to escape you!”

“GASTON!” LeFou exclaimed, his eyes wide. The prince gritted his teeth, but said nothing.

Gaston was miffed that the prince hadn't lost his temper. He pushed further, relentlessly. “But maybe we're looking at this issue the wrong way. Maybe what we should _really_ do is pay attention to Belle’s mental health. Maybe we should call Monsieur D'Arque once we return to the village. After all, it was she who fell in love with a _beast.”_

That did it. With a roar of rage, the prince, jumped on top of Gaston, and both rolled over, grappling. The prince tried to punch him in the face, but Gaston dodged easily. Both were weakened, but the prince was more severely injured, making his movements slower and more awkward than usual, and he was no match for Gaston. Although Gaston had been carried away by rage, he was also very aware of the prince's impaired health and confined himself to attempting to seize the prince's arms, being careful not to strike any blow to him, especially in the chest, although he had plenty of opportunities to do so; he was content only to have angered the prince. LeFou shouted at them both to stop, but neither man ceased his quest to outdo the other. Gaston wanted the prince to realize that despite his fancy title, Gaston was _better_ than him. He wanted the prince to know that he could easily beat him.

Then LeFou abruptly stopped yelling. The prince likewise stopped fighting and stared at something behind Gaston, his eyes widening.

Gaston was puzzled. But in the next instant, he, too, froze as he felt the blade of a knife against his throat.


	6. Chapter 6

 

Prince Adam, beneath Gaston, didn’t even dare to breathe, much less move. Gaston didn’t dare to move either, in case his attacker ended up driving the knife in his throat. His eyes focused on the knife and the arm that held it, trying to think of a way to get out of this. The prince was shocked and barely blinking, so Gaston discarded his help almost instantly – he seemed to be a useless ally. Gaston moved slowly back, raising his hands, and tried to sit up, but his attacker pressed the knife against his throat, and Gaston felt it scratch his skin.

For a long second, he feared that the one behind him was none other than LeFou, trying to separate him from the prince. His stomach contracted painfully, and he wanted to turn around to face him, but the strength of the man prevented him from moving. That made him realize that it couldn't be his friend, because Lefou could never hold Gaston down.

Besides, he could hear LeFou panting on the other side of the road.

Oh, how he wished he had his pistol.

To his surprise, the prince actually made an effort to help. “Release that man at once!” he ordered.

Gaston frowned. Did the prince really think that the man was going to release him just because he asked for it? The man only laughed.  But he relaxed his grip on the knife, so at least Gaston could breathe better. He could hear several other men echoed the laughter of the one who held him. So it wasn’t just a single attacker. That was bad. Gaston tried to squirm free, but his attacker immediately stopped laughing and pressed the knife closer against his throat.

The prince could not move from his position on the ground, as Gaston was practically sitting on top of him, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t trying. Gaston moved back slightly, and the prince finally got out from under him and stood up. Another man entered his range of vision, also armed with a knife, advancing towards the prince. But the prince didn’t let that intimidate him.

“Did you hear me? I order you to release that man!” he insisted.

“And why do you believe yourself to be in position to give us orders?”

“I am Prince Adam, monarch of this region,” the prince proclaimed, his voice strong and commanding. For a moment, Gaston hated that the prince had told those men who he really was, for that alone could bring them trouble, but he soon realized the enormous advantage that the prince had given him. When the men laughed again, Gaston took advantage of the distraction and suddenly leaned back hard, causing his attacker to lose his balance to Gaston's delight. Unfortunately, Gaston also stumbled. The attacker's knife fell to the ground, and he tried to retrieve it, but Gaston threw himself on top of him and they both rolled on the ground, leaving the knife abandoned in the middle of the road.

Prince Adam moved to help Gaston, but another of the men caught him by the throat. Gaston hoped he could manage on his own.

Oh, how he hated the highwaymen.

The man who fought against Gaston was strong, but his movements were too awkward, and he was no match for Gaston. Gaston lunged hard against him, feeling the familiar adrenaline rushing through him, just like on the battlefield. He fought mercilessly until the man fell unconscious to the ground.

Gaston looked around for LeFou and saw him struggling with another highwayman. Lefou had never been a hand-to-hand expert.  With a roar of rage, Gaston ran to help him. Moving quickly and with precision, he gripped the man's neck, pulling him away from Lefou, then wrapped his arms around that stranger’s neck and squeezed hard. Hearing Lefou moaning his pain, he angrily increased the pressure on the stranger. He wanted to kill the man for daring to hurt his friend. The man struggled, trying with all his strength to free himself from Gaston's grasp, but without success. For a second, Gaston was transported to the battlefield, in the middle of the war. He could almost able to hear the cannons firing in the distance. He clenched his teeth, exerting even more force on the man. LeFou shouted at Gaston to let go as the man lost consciousness. Disgusted, Gaston threw him hard to the side. He had to fight the urge to pull the knife from his boot and stab the man in his heart. No one was allowed to hurt LeFou!

“Gaston!”  LeFou shouted desperately.

Gaston saw that his friend was now having problems with another attacker. To his surprise, the prince suddenly appeared at Gaston's side with a sword. Gaston recognized it as the sword he had seen earlier in one of the sacks of the chariot. He was even more amazed when the prince handed _him_ the sword. He himself brandished a pistol, aiming it at the highwaymen.  Seeing them armed, the men retreated in fear. Their knives were no match for the prince's pistol, nor for Gaston's sword, which he was handling with the ease and experience of a soldier trained in war. The assailants fled in terror, losing themselves in the depths of the forest. Neither he nor the prince had had to use their weapons.

The prince laughed. "It has no powder," he told Gaston, pointing to the pistol. He tossed it in the cart.

“It's just as well,” Gaston said. "If you _had_ shot that thing, with your aim, you probably would have killed _me,_ not the one you were targeting."

"Maybe not. Maybe it would have been my _intention_ to kill you," the prince said mockingly.

“You wouldn’t have. Besides, you already _had_ your chance to kill me -- you missed it," Gaston joked.

The prince laughed. “I could say the same about you,” he pointed out, gesturing at the sword Gaston still held.

Then they heard Lefou groan, and both rushed over to him. He sat on the ground with his back against a tree, panting, holding his arm, on which was an enormous wound. Gaston tossed his sword aside and crouched beside him, worried.

“Are you all right?” Gaston whispered to LeFou.

LeFou nodded. “It's not important,” he whisper. “I'm fine. This is from ... yesterday. The fight has had to reopen the wound.”

Gaston opened his mouth to tell him that he was going to look for bandages to assist him, but he was interrupted by a cry from the prince. LeFou and Gaston looked up, and to their surprise, saw the prince rushing over to a man trying to run into the trees. The prince was pulling with all his strength, trying to tear out something in his hands. Gaston couldn’t understand why the prince would not allow him to flee: these men were highwaymen who had been overcome, so the logical thing was that they wanted to run away, or at least that seemed to be the intention of that man.

And then he saw what that man had in his hands and had to fight with all his might to keep from rolling his eyes.

_It's just a book!_ he wanted to scream. _Let him take it_!

The prince was having trouble breathing, but he didn’t stop. LeFou got to his feet and joined the small tumult, but the attacker struggled tooth and nail, trying to get the loot. Gaston sighed and approached slowly, taking advantage of the fact that the man was busy with LeFou and the prince to tear the book out of his hands.

“Why is this thing so important?” he asked angrily.

“It's Belle’s,” LeFou replied, as if that would be enough for an answer.

Gaston rolled his eyes. Then he turned, to discover, much to his regret, that the attacker had taken advantage of his moment of carelessness to pull the prince to his feet, and now threatened him with the knife.

_Idiot,_ thought Gaston. _If only he would have let him take the stupid book ..._

“Give me the book, or he dies!” the man growled.

"Believe me, I don’t care what you do with it,” Gaston replied, throwing his shoulders back. LeFou, beside him, held his breath. “It seems a bit useless, however, that you would stain your hands for a simple book. It's nothing valuable.”

"It must be, since he and the fat fellow protected it so fervently.”

Gaston had to grit his teeth so that his rage at that disdainful comment about his friend would not show on his face. Trying to relax and stay calm,, he laughed, though his eyes were cold; he glared at the attacker until he saw some indecision in his face. Then he smiled.

“It only has sentimental value. Can you read? It's a storybook! Totally useless!” he said, walking slowly towards them. “However, in the wagon there is a chalice of pure gold that is worth a fortune. Why do not you take that and get out? If you leave now, you will not even have to share the booty with all those idiots.”

Gaston noticed how the man's gaze strayed to all those who lay unconscious on the ground, and his expression was gradually changing, thoughtful, considering the idea that Gaston had given him. Gaston calmed down, knowing that it was impossible for that idiot to reject such an offer.

“Get off me and take what he said!” the prince said impatiently. "Let go of me now, or I'll have you hanged!"

The man looked at the prince, a sarcastic comment on his lips, which died with a small gasp. Gaston saw the man's eyes roaming the prince, noticing the high quality of his clothes, and how he began to work out in his head how to take advantage of the situation.

“It's true! You _are_ a prince!” he exclaimed excitedly.

“Of course I'm a prince!”

Gaston sighed heavily. "Come on, take the chalice and let him go," he tried to negotiate again.

“That's nothing!” the man exclaimed. "I'll take the prince and demand a ransom! I will earn a lot more money!”

"Release him," Gaston said warningly. “I don’t want to have to kill you.”

The man laughed. “You're unarmed! You can’t do anything.”

But Gaston _wasn’t_ unarmed. Before the man could even register what was happening,  he bent down and pulled the knife from his boot, throwing it at the prince and the man. The attacker fell with a thud, the knife stuck between his eyes.

The prince, in shock, looked at the fallen man, then at Gaston, and then at the fallen man. LeFou went over to the prince and checked his neck, but there was no wound to attend to.

“You threw a knife at me!” the prince said accusingly.

“I didn’t throw it at _you,”_ Gaston replied, approaching the body of the fallen man. “If I'd been throwing it at you, it would have _hit_ you. I never miss.”

With an effort, he pulled the knife out of the man's head and cleaned it as best he could on the grass on the side of the road. LeFou walked over to him with a piece of cloth and offered it without a word. Gaston just looked at him for a moment before accepting it and wiping the blade of the knife with the cloth. After that he dropped to the ground, next to a tree, still rubbing the knife.

"You saved my life," said the prince slowly, puzzled.

"If you hadn't been stupid enough to confront that man with a simple book, I wouldn't have had to do it," he replied.

“Still, you could have stood by, doing nothing, and yet you saved me.”

“Yes, and then, I'd have gotten blamed for your death, and the villagers would have another excuse to take me to the gallows! No thanks. Although I _should_ have left you to your fate, since you were stupid enough to risk your life for a book!”

"Gaston ..." LeFou began in a warning tone.

Seeing his disapproving look, Gaston stopped talking. Lefou clearly didn't like the constant bickering, and Gaston didn't want to upset him.  He jumped to his feet, and his left foot complained for a moment about the pain, but it stopped as quickly as it had appeared. He held the knife by its blade and offered it to the prince, who looked at him uncomprehendingly.

"Your knife," he said. The prince looked puzzled. “You didn’t want me to have weapons,” Gaston reminded him.

"And yet that did not stop you from taking it without permission," the prince muttered.

"I found it," Gaston said, lifting his chin defiantly.

"All right," said the prince simply. “Keep it. You have shown that it is useful for you to be armed.”

Gaston was surprised, but he nodded, putting it back in his boot, and quickly got into the cart. “Let's go, before another band of highwaymen finds us.” He gathered up the pistol, the sword, and the knives the attackers had dropped, and climbed into the cart.

The other two men hastened to follow him, but the prince was weakened and was having trouble climbing up. Gaston jumped down and helped the prince into the cart.

“Thank you,” the prince said, looking at him in surprise.

“I'm just in a hurry to leave and didn't want to wait all day for you,” Gaston said grumpily.

The prince looked amused. “I was just being polite, not expressing my undying gratitude. It's called manners. Maybe you've heard of them?”

“Of course I have,” Gaston said, offended. To prove it, he snapped, “You're _welcome!”_

The prince laughed, shaking his head.

As they rode, Gaston noticed that the prince kept looking at him, which made him uncomfortable. He looked at the passing landscape instead, sneaking glances at Lefou from time to time. He needed to know if LeFou was all right at all times. He watched his friend's hair, his back, how his arms flexed whenever he wielded the horses' reins. And his heart twitched when his eye fell on Lefou's bandaged arm, thinking about how close he had been to losing his friend last night. Yes, LeFou had been lucky to get out of the castle attack with only that simple wound, but what if they had stabbed him in the heart?

Or just a few moments before, he could have lost him too! Any of those attackers could have caused him a mortal wound!

Gaston could not even think of a world without LeFou in it.

The journey continued in silence. Soon the sun was almost hidden by the thin line of the horizon, but at the same time the small buildings of a town began to be seen at the end of the trees. The prince let out a sigh of relief as he began to distinguish them in the distance, and Gaston had to slow himself down not to do the same. LeFou, animated, led the horses to what appeared to be the tavern of the village, and Gaston smiled.

Not only could they rest and regain strength, but it was also the best place to start looking for answers. Gaston jumped out of the cart much more excited, grateful to be free of the prince's inquisitorial glance. The prince came down with LeFou's help, and rummaging in the cart, he took out a small bag that was tied to his belt. Gaston heard the clinking of coins and wrinkled his nose, annoyed that he had not found the money before.

“Gaston,” LeFou called him softly. “You're injured.”

“No I'm not,” he said, almost automatically.

He hadn’t noticed the proximity of his friend, but now that he was conscious of it, he couldn’t stop his heart from accelerating. LeFou gently touched his cheek in concern, and Gaston froze, feeling his heart beating so hard he feared LeFou could see how nervous he was. He could not take his eyes away from LeFou's, and the simple touch on his skin made him shiver. Gaston gently took his friend's arm and pulled him away, still staring into his eyes.

“You're hurt, too. And your wounds are worse than mine,” he said.

“They’re just scratches,” LeFou protested.

“They aren’t scratches. And even if they were, the scratches must be treated, so that they don’t become infected. You said that yourself,” Gaston reminded him.

LeFou's cheeks coloured gently. The prince, a few steps back, frowned, confused, and when the atmosphere of the moment between them broke and LeFou remembered again that the prince was right there and had witnessed that instant, reddened even more noticeably. The prince raised an eyebrow, silently questioning LeFou. But LeFou entered the tavern without a word.

The prince was about to follow him, but then stopped, staring at Gaston up and down.

“You look like a beggar,” he said, wrinkling his nose.

Gaston gritted his teeth. His appearance had always been very important to him, and having the prince remind him of his disheveled appearance bothered him greatly. He didn’t want to give the prince the satisfaction of seeing how much he had been disturbed by the simple comment, but he searched the sacks of clothes of the car until he found a bow and tied his hair back as best he could, trying not to look so careless. To his surprise, the prince took a jacket from the cart and threw it at him without care, entering the tavern after LeFou without saying a word. Gaston frowned but pulled the jacket over his shoulders, grateful to be able, at last, to hide the huge hole in his shirt. The jacket was a bit narrow on his shoulders, but it had to do. It was a very dark blue, and Gaston sighed. How he missed his red jacket. At least the sleeves completely covered the rope burns where Tom, Dick, and Jacques had tied his wrists.

The tavern was crowded with people. Prince Adam took on a regal bearing almost immediately, frowning, his intention fixed on the bar. LeFou, who had stood by the door, waiting for them, immediately seized him by the arm, stopping him.

"I don’t think it's a good idea to have them realize who you are," LeFou said in a whisper. “It will only bring problems.”

"I know," the prince sighed. "I wasn’t going to say anything. Although it would be easier, if only I could force them to give me the information.”

Gaston nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, perhaps it would be easier to ask these people and threaten them with the gallows if they do not tell you the truth. Isn’t that what all princes do?” he said.

The prince frowned. "You have no idea what it means to be a prince," he hissed.

"And I'll never know, but I don’t care," Gaston said indifferently. “Now, are we going to stay here all night?”

The prince grunted. Gaston grinned, and grabbed the bag that the prince carried in his belt. The prince made a sound of protest and snatched it back, but not before Gaston had taken a couple of coins from it. He sauntered confidently to the bar and leaned on it, followed by the prince and LeFou.

“Good evening, my good man,” Gaston said, addressing the bartender, who looked up from the glasses he was drying. Gaston tossed a few coins on the bar. "How about serving me and my friends a drink? It's been a long trip!”

"Outsiders, eh?” the bartender said as he poured three beers. “Strangely, you aren’t the first outsiders to come here today.”

The prince leaned forward immediately. “Really? “That’s curious! Were they traveling for pleasure??”

“No, I think it was for work,” the bartender replied, leaning on the bar. “Although they didn’t look like merchants. Those guys were very weird.”

“Why?” Gaston asked.

“Why were they weird? Well ... One of them had a very strange accent, and it definitely wasn’t from around here. The other kept his face covered. They didn’t talk to anyone, not even to each other. And the one time they spoke between themselves, it was to argue,” the bartender said with a shrug. “When they started arguing, it got so heated I was afraid they'd come to blows and wreck the place.”

“Are they still around?” the prince asked.

"No, they're gone now, to Lyon. It was all they said ... they were in a hurry to leave and get to Lyon. They hardly let their horses rest.”

Gaston looked at LeFou, who smiled at him. They had another clue, at least.

“What a coincidence,” the prince said, then. “We are also headed for Lyon.”

"Would you describe these men, just in case we meet them on the way? To avoid them, more than anything,” LeFou said.

“The only guy I saw was quite normal, dark, with a beard – nothing special. The other guy kept his face covered,” the bartender replied dismissively. “I'm sorry I can't be of more help.”

The bartender's attention moved to the other side of the room, where someone was shouting for a drink. He excused himself, and Gaston turned to face the prince and LeFou.

"Where's Belle then?" LeFou asked. “She’s supposed to be with them, right?”

“What if she already escaped? Maybe she's in the woods! Or maybe...” the prince exclaimed worriedly.

"Nor are we sure these men are the ones we're looking for," LeFou interrupted.

“But one of them kept his face covered,” Gaston said.

“It could be them, yes,” the prince said, biting his lower lip slightly. “We should ask other people, to see if anyone else saw anything. The bartender can’t be the only one who saw them!”

Gaston ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe they locked her up somewhere,” he suggested, thinking aloud.  “Maybe that's why she wasn’t with them. The night they attacked the castle, I saw something heavy on a horse, but I did not see if it was her.”

“And why didn't you mention that earlier?!” the prince exclaimed, frustrated. “If it _wasn’t_ Belle, we missed a day following a useless track!”

"I thought you were _sure_ it was Belle they took?" LeFou said, looking at Gaston with narrowed eyes.

“I couldn't see very well!” Gaston protested. “It was dark, and I was on the ground!” _A_ _nd I had a dagger sticking out of my chest at the time._

"What if they killed Belle?" the prince asked worriedly.

LeFou immediately grabbed him by the shoulders. “My prince, please don’t think about it,” he said. “We have to stay positive.”

 “If they had wanted to kill her, they would have done it at the castle,” Gaston reassured the prince. “They wouldn't bother kidnapping her just to kill her.”

The prince nodded, relieved. “That's true. But who would have a reason to kidnap Belle? Besides, you, I mean.”

Gaston frowned. “I'm _not_ the enemy,” he snarled.

"Relax. I believe you. But you haven't been entirely honest with us, either,” the prince pointed out, eyeing him closely. “You haven’t told us what were you doing in the forest with a bloody dagger, or why do you claim to have faced those men when you don’t have a scratch on you. Whose blood was on that dagger?"

"Maybe it was from some animal ..." LeFou began in a whisper.

“Mine, okay? It was _mine_!” Gaston interrupted, furious.

“How is that possible? You weren’t hurt!” the prince said.

“Because I received an interesting visit from someone you also know well, someone with special ... _skills_ ,” Gaston hissed furiously. “Apparently she has gotten bored, so now, instead of creating _beasts_ and enchanting castles, she has decided to play with other people.”

The prince went pale. LeFou's eyes widened in fear. "And now, if you'll excuse me, _Your Highness_ , I'm going to find out what happened to Belle. I'm tired of wasting my time."


	7. Chapter 7

Gaston was furious, and his anger grew when, as he left LeFou and the prince, they began to whisper between them. He went to the side of the tavern and sank onto a stool, annoyed. Were they talking about _him?_

As if confirming his suspicions, the prince approached him moments later, leaving LeFou sitting alone.

"What did the enchantress do to you, Gaston?" the prince asked seriously.

Gaston couldn’t believe his audacity. The prince stood before him, tense and regal, without reflecting any emotion on his face. Why should the prince care about what happened to Gaston? Or did he ask just to laugh at his answer? In any case, how _dare_ he ask him that?

“It is _none of your business_ ,” he hissed defensively, though he wanted to scream at him. His voice was muffled by the noise of the tavern.

Gaston tried to get up abruptly, but the prince stepped in front of him, blocking his way. Seeing himself cornered, Gaston dropped back onto the stool.

“Did she give you a rose? What do you have to do?” the prince insisted.

“I don’t have to do anything! And she didn’t give me any roses!” Gaston exclaimed angrily, wanting to end the discussion as soon as possible. "And if she gave me a rose or not, it's still _none of your business_!"

“LeFou is worried about you. He knows what the enchantress did to me, and he's a little scared,” the prince said then. "If I can help you with anything..."

Gaston was gratified to hear that LeFou was worried about him. It meant that he _did_ still care, at least a little. As for the prince...why would he want to help Gaston? It must just be out of pity. Gaston could not believe it. He slammed the wall behind him, furious. The prince stepped back, but his face remained impassive. Gaston hated that he did not show fear in his features.

“Do you always have to use brute force for everything?” the prince asked him in exasperation, looking at the spot where Gaston had hit the wall.

“Some issues can’t be resolved with just delicacy. Or do you plan to treat Belle's kidnappers with gentleness and distinction when we find them?”

The prince remained impassive. Gaston frowned. He wasn't letting Gaston bait him anymore. Finally Gaston snarled, “I don’t want your pity!”

“It's not pity. I was cursed by the enchantress myself, remember? I know what it's like,” the prince said. “I thought I could help. That's all.”

“Well, it's my problem, and I don't want you to intrude,” Gaston insisted, but with less venom than before.

“All right,” the prince said. He eyed Gaston thoughtfully. “LeFou insists that you aren’t lying.”

“At least you listen to LeFou. But ... do you believe him?” Gaston asked.

“I don't know,” the prince admitted. “You have a reputation as a liar...and yet, LeFou is willing to vouch for you. I can’t say I understand.”

Gaston didn’t answer; he just got to his feet.

“Where are you going?” the prince asked.

“I don’t want to talk to you anymore, so I’m going to ask around,” he answered. “Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

"Who told you that you would be the one to get the information?" the prince asked, frowning.

“You can’t pretend to go and get the information yourself. You’d never get it.”

“I'm not useless, despite what you want to believe,” the prince interrupted him.

"I haven’t seen you do anything useful, really. Not yet,” Gaston said.

“You're an idiot,” the prince sighed.

Gaston laughed. “Are we going to insult each other now?”

“Of course not. I have class and education,” the prince said drily. “Let's go ask those girls there and see who gets some information first.”

Gaston looked where the prince was pointing and snorted, not even bothering to hold his laughter. He saw three girls with elaborate hairstyles, who laughed and whispered animatedly between them. They even resembled the three gossiping sisters who lived in their village. If those girls were the least bit similar to them, it would be easy for him to get the information.

“OK,” he said smugly. “If you want to make this a competition...”

“It's not a competition!” The prince rolled his eyes, frowning.

Gaston didn’t answer him, but went to the girls himself, sitting next to them and interrupting their conversation. The prince hurried to do the same. Seeing the two men, the girls blushed. Gaston, placing his most charismatic smile on his face, leaned back on the chair, totally in his element. Unfortunately, at his side, the prince did the same.

“Good evening, ladies,” the prince said. A girl giggled nervously. “We hope we're not interrupting your conversation.”

"No, monsieur, not at all. We love, in fact, to be in the company of a gentleman as handsome as yourself.”

Gaston raised his eyebrows. He looked at the prince and the prince gave him a mocking look. Gaston hated him. Then one of the girls placed a hand on his Gaston's arm, and Gaston had to make use of all his self-control to not frown. He hated being touched, but he would bear it if that meant surpassing the prince.

"Where do you come from, Messieurs?" the girl asked him.

“Pretty far away,” Gaston replied vaguely.

“We're heading for Lyon,” the prince added.

“That is a long trip, no doubt!” one of them said. "Do you travel much, monsieur? Are you merchants? "

"Oh, no, not at all,” the prince replied. "We’re going on an adventure.”

That caught the attention of the girls, who rose forward, flapping their eyelashes.

“What kind of adventure?” one of them asked.

“Can I make a guess?” one of them asked, giving the prince a flirtatious look. "You travel to meet your wife. A handsome man like you has to have a wife by his side.”

“There's a girl, yes,” the prince said, with a smile. "She's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And more importantly, the kindest, the wisest, and the most intelligent.”

Gaston, surprised by the prince's ease, could not even say a word. For a reason, he had thought the prince to be shy and awkward around the girls, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Attentive to the prince's words, he barely noticed that LeFou had just moved and sat next to him. Gaston turned his gaze to LeFou almost immediately, startled by the appearance of his friend. The latter, without saying a word, handed him a glass and urged him to drink.

"She is very fortunate, monsieur.”

“The fortunate one is me, mademoiselle. I still can’t believe she chose me,” the prince replied.

"What words did the girl tell you to bewitch your heart, monsieur?" a girl asked, in a dreamy voice.

“She didn’t have to tell me anything, she just saw the real me. I was a goner from the start, though. She had to take some time to return my affections, though.”

The girls did not even bother to hide their disappointment at the prince's enamoured look. Gaston let out a huff, annoyed, that caught the attention of the girls.

"Is something wrong, monsieur?" one of them asked.

“No, just ...we almost died on the way here,” Gaston said. "We were attacked by robbers. I had to fight them off by myself!” He was gratified to see the girls' attention turn to him. _That's more like it,_ he thought smugly.

"Oh ... but are you all right, messieurs?" a girl said in a worried tone.

“Yes,” the prince said dismissively. “There weren't too many of them, and we were able to continue our way without problems. They fled.” He leaned forward confidingly. “But we need your help.”

Immediately the girls' attention was back on the prince, to Gaston's annoyance. “Of course, monsieur! How can we help?”

“The girl I spoke of...the love of my life...she was kidnapped,” the prince said earnestly. “I fear she is in mortal danger.”

The girls gasped. “How awful!”

“We're trying to find her,” the prince went on. “Have you seen her around here? She has brown hair, and she would likely be in the company of the men who kidnapped her.”

“Oh! We did see a girl with other men!” one of them said. “Just this morning there was one in the main square. She didn’t enter the tavern with her companions when they stopped to rest. Madame Môret greeted her as she passed, but she didn’t say a word.”

Gaston, concerned, leaned forward. “What did she look like?” he asked.

“She was quite beautiful. Brunette, light complexion, dark eyes. She was wearing a beautiful, expensive dress, but it was covered with mud. Probably from the trip.”

_It could be Belle_ , Gaston thought. _But if it was Belle, why didn’t she ask for help, or did she try to flee?_

“Did she say anything, that girl? To anyone?” the prince asked, his voice hoarse and anxious.

“No, not at all. She was like ... asleep, but at the same time she was awake,” the girl nearest the prince said. "I'm sorry, monsieur, that probably doesn’t make sense.”

“Thank you for your help,” the prince said, worried and distracted. “Please excuse me.” Abruptly, he stood up and left the tavern.  LeFou followed, murmuring an apology, and leaving Gaston alone with the three girls.

“I am sorry,” Gaston felt obliged to say. “My friend is very upset about his girl's safety.”

"Of course, we understand. And what about you, monsieur?" one of the girls asked.

“What about me?”

“Do you have a wife waiting for you at home?” she asked him.

“I'm afraid I have not been blessed by the sacrament of marriage,” he answered with a sigh.

“Oh I'm sorry!” the one closest to him said, though she looked anything but sorry. She moved her chair closer to his and looked up at him dreamily.

"There was a girl I considered joining in marriage, but it didn’t work out,” Gaston told her.

"But how could she reject a man as charming as you? Surely the man she married was not as handsome!"

“I wasn’t _rejected_! But you're right: of course the man she chose for herself isn’t as handsome as me. He looks like a monster... a _beast,_ ” he said, almost laughing. “I'm sure she regrets the mistake she has made. Anyway, she ran away before the wedding! No one knows where she is.”

Gaston noticed that LeFou was returning to the tavern, accompanied by the prince, but instead of returning to Gaston's table, they went to the bar. Gaston's eyes narrowed. Forgetting about the girls, he watched LeFou, who seemed to be having a tense conversation with the prince. The girls' eyes also headed in the same direction.

“I think I should return to my companions, to see if my friend is all right,” Gaston said.

“Oh, but your companions are busy now, no need to disturb them,” one of them said, taking his arm. Gaston forced himself not to withdraw it, forcing a smile on his face. "Why don’t you dance with me, monsieur? You can tell me more about that girl. "

Gaston, almost immediately thought of ways to politely reject the girl politely, but after looking at LeFou one last time, he decided against it. He nodded briefly and escorted the girl to a place among the tavern tables where several couples danced to a cheerful song. Gaston had not even noticed the group of men who, using strange-looking flutes, encouraged people with their music. The girl dragged Gaston toward them, quickly joining the dance.

"How present is that girl in your heart, monsieur?" she asked.

Gaston didn’t reply, for his attention was elsewhere. LeFou had just put his hands on the prince's shoulders, massaging them gently. The prince said something that made LeFou smile.

Gaston's companion, seeing that he was not paying her any attention, followed his gaze and also observed the scene between LeFou and the prince.

Gaston pursed his lips, totally distracted. He was overwhelmed, perhaps because the grip of that girl on him was growing stronger, or because her proximity made him nervous. He had never felt this way with another girl before, what was happening? The only thing that was clear was that he could not wait for the song to end so he could get out of there as soon as possible.

The problem was that the girl seemed to have a different idea. The more uncomfortable Gaston felt, the more she seemed to want to get close to his body. He tried to put distance between them, but it wasn’t enough, and when the song ended, he found himself too close to her.

"Let me help you forget that girl..." she said.

"I have to go back to my travelling companions, mademoiselle,” he protested faintly.

But as soon as he tried to separate himself from the girl, her lips settled on his. Gaston froze, totally immobile, and he could hardly react enough to break away from her, his eyes looking for LeFou. Fortunately, Lefou had his back to him and hadn’t seen them. Gaston could not suppress the sigh of relief that came out of his body.

“I have to go,” he said, tense. But he could barely put some distance between that girl and him before the girl took his hand again.

“Wait!”

“I have to go!” he repeated, more urgently.

“Oh....” the girl said knowingly. “I see now.”

That got him out of his stupor. Gaston had already taken a few steps when that simple comment made him stop short and turn back to her.

“See what?” he asked, confused.

“That you were telling the truth ... and your heart belongs to another person,” she said, smiling.

“But I ... she said she wouldn’t marry me,” he protested, frowning, even more confused. “And I don’t even care about her anymore. I deserve better.”

The girl laughed. “Oh, that's funny,” she said. “No, you're right – your heart definitely _doesn't_ belong to that girl anymore.”

Gaston was beginning to grow impatient. He didn’t understand this girl, and that made him angry. Crossing his arms, he  looked back at LeFou and the prince. To his surprise, they were watching the scene he was making with the girl, and it made him even more nervous and uncomfortable. Turning back to the girl, he saw that her attention was also on the prince and his friend, and it took of all his self-control not to stand in front of her and block her from looking at LeFou.

“You don’t even _realize_ it, do you?” she told him then, sounding amused. “That's why it's so funny.”

“What?” he snarled.

"You wouldn’t believe it even if I told you, monsieur.”

Without another word, the girl walked past him and returned to her group of friends, who surrounded her almost immediately, giggling. Gaston, frowning and annoyed, walked toward LeFou, but before he could reach him, LeFou left the tavern. In a foul mood, Gaston went to the prince instead, and flopped into a chair next to him.

“LeFou has gone to see the horses,” the prince said. Gaston just nodded. "I think we should leave soon. I don’t want to have to go all the way to Lyon. It could be better if we could intercept those men on the way. I want to find Belle and get this over with as soon as possible."

“At least we agree on something,” Gaston said. He rose from his seat to leave the tavern, but the prince took his arm, stopping him.

"Don’t you think you should at least tell LeFou what the enchantress told you?"

Gaston gritted his teeth. "I do not want to talk about it, I thought I'd made that clear. It's my business.”

“Do you have to seek true love?”

“Is that what _you_ had to do?” Gaston asked, snorting. "Well, I would have preferred if she had turned me into a beast!"

The prince softened his stance, and released Gaston's arm. Rising carefully, he forced Gaston to take a seat.

"Look, when the enchantress put the curse on me and the castle, I had other people around to help. Yes, maybe they were turned into enchanted objects, but…”

“I'm not _cursed_!” Gaston insisted, getting to his feet again. “I do _not_ have a rose, or objects that speak to me, nor a castle that falls to pieces. I guess I'm not as important as you. She’s made it quite clear the only reason I'm alive is because she’s going to need me later.” Gaston let out a bitter laugh. “All I have to do is wait for her to appear and decide to _use_ me.”

“Gaston ...” the prince said in concern.

"I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t mention this again."

Gaston got to his feet, hurrying out of the tavern. On leaving, he crossed paths with LeFou, who entered the room again. His friend seemed surprised to see him leave so quickly, but did nothing to stop him. Gaston dropped down beside the cart, wrinkling his nose. He couldn’t bear to feel so helpless.

He didn’t even understand why the prince had offered him his help. It wasn't like they were _friends._ Crinkling his nose, he patted the back of the horse and tried to jump into the cart. Instead, his ankle gave out and he fell on his left foot next to the cart. Instantly he felt his muscles scream in agony. He groaned, steeling his expression until the throbbing pain ceased to be so sharp. He was annoyed at himself – just when he had believed his injuries had finally healed, he had to do something as stupid as jumping into the cart. He stepped back from it carefully and took a couple of tentative steps. His foot complained painfully, but it was bearable.

LeFou and the prince came out of the tavern at that moment, the prince leaning on LeFou. Gaston watched them out of the corner of his eye, still upset with the prince. Fortunately, when they got to the cart, he didn’t comment on the conversation they had just had. LeFou helped the prince to get in, then got in himself and lifted the reins. Both men looked at Gaston.

“Are we leaving?” Gaston asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Those two men could be far away already," the prince said in response.

Gaston climbed into the cart slowly and carefully, and settled among the sacks. His back hit a hard object that stuck to his skin, and he turned and pulled it out of the sack. The stupid music box and its sharp edges glowed in the moonlight. Gaston gritted his teeth and set it aside, despite the urge to throw it on the floor. He had seen old Maurice with those little boxes of brightly coloured figurines and knew how hard the old man worked on them. He was not so cruel as to tear the music box apart.

LeFou had gotten the horses to set off southwards on the way to Lyon. The prince had returned to his entrancing task of continuing to observe all of Gaston's movements, as if watching him were a fascinating occupation. Gaston could feel the prince's eyes on him, but refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing him uncomfortable and closed his eyes, trying to sleep. The clop-clop of the horses' hooves and the sound of the wind spinning over them immediately relaxed him, and he settled more comfortably on the sacks, ready to sleep for a couple of hours....

He woke up with a start, and for a moment he thought the cart had hit a bump in the road. Gaston straightened, confused, as the horses resumed their march. The prince slept, not even noticing what had happened.

“What's up?” Gaston asked LeFou.

“Nothing,” LeFou answered. “Go back to sleep.”

Gaston glanced at LeFou's heavy-lidded eyes and his slow, awkward movements and realized what was happening.

“You haven't slept at all, and you fell asleep at the reins, didn’t you?” he said accusingly.

LeFou hastened to deny it, but his flushed cheeks betrayed him. Gaston grabbed the reins from him and slowed the horses to a stop. Then he gestured to LeFou to move aside and took his seat at the reins, to LeFou's astonishment. “Get some sleep. You need it,” Gaston said. “I'll handle this.”

“Thank you,” LeFou whispered, clearly relieved.

But once Gaston got the horses walking again, he noticed that  LeFou wasn’t sleeping. Gaston kept glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, but his friend kept his eyes wide, watching the sky. After riding for a while in silence, broken only by the occasional snore of the prince, Gaston relaxed his shoulders and settled himself more comfortably in his seat.

“He’s okay, I guess,” Gaston said grudgingly, tilting his head toward the sleeping figure of the prince.

“What?” LeFou asked, not understanding.

“The prince,” Gaston said. “I understand why Belle chose him. He’s not what I thought he would be at first, when they told me about him.”

“What did you think he was?” LeFou asked.

Gaston had to think about it. “Cruel, inhuman.” He shrugged. "Maurice said that the beast had locked Belle in a cell. Well, he _was_ the beast. So how could she like him?”

“Yeah, well, Belle and him didn’t start off on good footing,” LeFou acknowledged.

“Neither did he and I,” Gaston said wryly, remembering their life-and-death battle on the castle. “But...he said he knows how it is with the enchantress, and he wants to help. I wasn't expecting that.”

They fell back into silence, though it was not unpleasant.

"Of course, don’t tell the prince any of this," Gaston added.

LeFou smiled in amusement. “You don’t want him to think you like him," he said teasingly.  "Don't worry. I'll keep your secret."

“I don’t _like_ him,” Gaston protested. ”I only said he's not _quite_ as horrible as I thought.”

“Right, okay,” LeFou said.

Gaston tried to hide the smile that crept on his face, but a glance at LeFou was enough to realize that he had not done a good job.

At least LeFou's smile was as wide as his.


	8. Chapter 8

When dawn came, Gaston had been at the reins for several hours. He didn't mind; he had been able to get lost in his thoughts for hours, without anyone bothering him. He was accompanied only by the soft breaths of the other two men, who slept peacefully. LeFou had finally managed to fall asleep after a while.

It was going to be a dark day. Ominous gray clouds covered the sky. It was cold, and the jacket that covered Gaston's shoulders barely did anything to keep off the chill. He stopped the horses and rummaged in the sacks, taking out all the available clothes. After throwing another jacket over his shoulders, he covered LeFou with the rest of the clothes, so he would not get sick. After thinking about it for a while, he threw another jacket over the sleeping prince.

The road through which they were travelling was isolated. It had been a long time since they'd left the forest behind, and it made Gaston feel uneasy. He had begun to think of the forest as his home, a safe haven, and leaving it behind made him anxious. At least being on an open road reduced the chances of an attack, for the criminals didn’t have a chance of hiding among the trees and taking them by surprise. Gaston could see them coming from whatever direction they decided to appear.

He stopped by a river to drink some water and let the horses do the same. He wondered if he should wake LeFou to drink some water, but finally he decided not to; he knew his friend had hardly rested in those last few days, and he needed to sleep. Instead Gaston collected some water in jars to keep on the wagon, and caught some fish to eat later. He decided to share them with LeFou. And if there was enough food, perhaps he would give the prince something too.

The prince awoke abruptly with such a start that Gaston thought he would fall from the cart. However, he was able to straighten himself in time. He blinked several times, perhaps wondering where he was. Once he saw Gaston and LeFou's sleeping figure, he relaxed his shoulders, though his frown remained pursed.

“Where are we?” the prince asked.

Gaston shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. Near a village, I think”

"Why did you stop now, if we're near a village? Why not wait til we arrive?"

“The horses need rest, and it's a good place to drink water,” Gaston answered. “I prefer to rest in the open, so if anyone thinks of attacking us, I can see them coming.”

Prince Adam nodded at this explanation, and carefully got out of the cart, not without difficulty. He walked to the river bank and drank some water.

"I see you've let LeFou rest," the prince commented, once he had finished drinking.

Gaston, not knowing how to answer that, shrugged.

"I thought you treated LeFou badly. The stories I'd heard about you ... But you protect him, though. A lot. Maybe too much," the prince continued after a while. “You two have a strange relationship.”

“Our relationship’s none of your business,” Gaston snapped.

“No, it isn’t. But LeFou was sure that you didn’t care about anyone but yourself, and after what I was told about what you did in the assault on the castle I thought that too." The prince paused, watching Gaston's features harden in anger. “And yet you just have to see yourself when you're with him. You care _a lot_.”

Gaston, annoyed and folding his arms, refused to answer that remark.

The prince laughed. “I really don’t understand why you're so defensive,” he said.

“And I don’t understand why you want to talk about things that don’t concern you,” Gaston retorted. “I don’t ask you about… about Belle. Even though I’m curious about how you managed to make her fall in love with you.”

The prince raised an eyebrow. “Are you comparing what I feel for Belle with what you feel for LeFou?” he asked, smiling.

Gaston grunted and lifted his chin defiantly. He didn’t want to say another word, because he feared saying something he could regret later. He walked over  to a broad tree on the road, where he took refuge, remaining in the shadows. He raised his eyes to the sky, and his attention focused on a bunch of birds that were flying overhead. The familiar sound of wings fluttering made him smile. He narrowed his eyes and followed the birds for a while, wishing he had his gun with him. How he missed hunting trips with LeFou. It seemed as though centuries had passed since the last time he had gone hunting, and yet it had only been a couple of months.

The prince looked at him curiously, then followed his gaze up to the birds when he noticed that Gaston's attention was diverted to them. After a moment's thought, he took the pistol from the cart and offered it to Gaston without a word.

“Is it loaded?” Gaston asked.

The prince rolled his eyes. "I keep it charged since that little mishap we had on the way."

Gaston didn’t need to ask any more questions. He took the gun, aimed it, and fired quickly, before the prince could have second thoughts and take the gun from his hands. It amazed him that the prince trusted Gaston enough to be armed around him. The confidence that the prince now seemed to have in him began to bother him a bit. Why would the prince allow Gaston to hold his weapon when only a few weeks ago he had tried to assassinate him?

One shot, and one of the birds fell, scattering the rest. Much to Gaston's displeasure, the bird didn’t fall at his feet, but dropped into the trees and was caught in the branches. He sighed in obvious displeasure. The prince laughed.

The sound of the gunshot awoke LeFou, who sat up, startled, and jumped out of the cart. “Are we under attack?” he asked.

Neither man had time to answer, because when LeFou saw the weapon in Gaston's hands, he immediately lunged at Gaston and tackled him to the ground.

“What are you doing?” LeFou shouted hysterically, pinning him down. “Do you want to be hanged? You made a promise! Why are you trying to kill the prince?”

Gaston opened and closed his mouth several times, perplexed. "I'm not trying to kill the prince! I'm hunting!" he exclaimed. LeFou looked at the prince for confirmation, but at least he rose from Gaston and allowed the latter to move off the ground.

“That's right, LeFou. We're hunting,” the prince confirmed.

“Are we?” Gaston asked mockingly. “I don’t see _you_ getting anything.”

Prince Adam answered by taking the weapon from his hands and firing at the birds, which had resumed circling overhead. One shot, and one of the birds fell practically at his feet.

Gaston's jaw dropped in surprise. “You can hunt!” he exclaimed.

“It's not something I like, but something they taught me when I was younger,” the prince said, shrugging his shoulders. “Hunting is useful in some diplomatic relations with other states. Many monarchs prefer to negotiate during a game of hunting and not in council rooms.”

Gaston looked closely at the prince. “I guess you’re not that bad,” he said grudgingly, trying not to sound as impressed as he was.

The prince's smile widened, but Gaston was no longer looking at him. He was watching  LeFou, whose eyes were still sleepy, despite the shock he had just taken. He was wrapped up in the jacket Gaston had used to protect him from the cold, which was huge and made him appear smaller than he was, and Gaston thought he was adorable. He smiled almost unconsciously, and gestured to LeFou to sit on the ground next to him. The prince, smiling at the interactions between LeFou and Gaston,  took a seat next to LeFou on the other side.

Gaston lit a small fire and cooked the fish he had caught earlier, as well as the bird that the prince had shot, and distributed the food among the three.

The prince appeared surprised when Gaston offered him a little too. At his look of disbelief, Gaston snorted, rolling his eyes.

“I'm not as bad as you think... I'm not going to let you starve. Besides, the bird’s yours,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t say anything,” the prince said. "I'm just surprised by your attitude. You've even stopped insulting me. "

“I still think you're an idiot,” Gaston said quickly.

The prince laughed, not taking offense. “Well, I guess I can't expect that much change in so little time,” he said in amusement. “But I think, anyway, that we could get along.”

“Get along?” Gaston asked in disbelief. “A few weeks ago I tried to kill you! And yesterday morning you wanted to sentence me to the gallows! And now you want us to get along?”

"I think I made a mistake by condemning you to the gallows. Besides, I don’t think Belle would have agreed," the prince said, shrugging his shoulders. “Look ... I still think you're selfish, narcissistic, and a brute, but you're not a bad man. I don’t see why we cannot get along ... what remains of the trip, of course.”

"Are you asking for a ... truce?” Gaston said skeptically. “If so, calling me selfish and narcissistic isn't a great start."

“I'm sure you think things about me that are much worse,” said the prince.

LeFou laughed. “A truce? It won’t last,” he whispered, not intending either man to hear his comment. But both the prince and Gaston heard him, and both had identical, offended expressions on their faces. LeFou, seeing them, just laughed. "You are much more similar than you think,” LeFou said.

“Us?!” the prince asked, even more offended. “Of course not!”

“Your characters are practically identical. Besides, you're both accustomed to getting away with anything you do. Maybe that's why Agathe...” LeFou stopped abruptly, but both men had already heard him. “I’m sorry,” LeFou whispered. “I didn't mean to speak out of turn.”

“It's okay,” the prince assured him.

Gaston said nothing. The comfortable, quiet atmosphere that had surrounded them was already broken. Uncomfortable, he set aside what was left of his food and hugged his legs, cramped. He hated that he might appear vulnerable, and forced himself to stretch, to put on his face the sneer of pride that had so much characterized him in the past, wanting to give the appearance of indifference ... and failing. LeFou had always been able to read him under the mask he always wore, and now he was looking at him with pity in his eyes. To Gaston's surprise, he came up to him and massaged his shoulders, as he did whenever he wanted to give him some comfort. Unconsciously, Gaston leaned toward LeFou, seeking his touch.

"I'm not afraid of Agathe,” Gaston lied.

“But ... what does she want from you?” LeFou asked.

“I don’t know... She just healed my wounds and left me in the woods. She said I would be a key piece of something in the future. I don’t know what she meant. But I don’t care,” Gaston answered.

“But... why didn’t she protect you from the prévôt, then?” LeFou asked. "Those men would have sentenced you to the gallows."

"I supposed she knew somehow that they wouldn’t sentence me to the gallows, even though Tom, Dick and Jacques were demanding it."

“Tom and Dick have changed a lot since the battle,” LeFou said. “Now that they have a position of power in the village, they're a lot bolder than they used to be. They come and go from the castle, trying to find someone to take to the prévôt. You have to be very careful in the village -- they think no one can defeat them.”

"When they found me, it was Jacques who was with them, not Stanley,” Gaston recalled. “Stanley used to be their partner. The three of them were always together. What happened?”

LeFou nodded. "After I went to live in the castle, Stanley had to give up his position,” he said to him.

“What? Why?”

LeFou didn’t answer immediately, and he took his time. He pulled away from Gaston, not looking into his eyes, dedicating himself to drawing small pictures on the floor with his finger as if he wanted to keep busy so he could escape from reality.

Gaston bit his lower lip, worried. "What's the matter, LeFou?" he asked.

"You're not the only one who was considered guilty of the attack on Prince Adam, Gaston. For the villagers, at least," LeFou finally said.

“What? Stanley? He was there, but--!”

“No, not Stanley,” LeFou interrupted. “ _I_ was the criminal, Gaston. I was your ... _partner._ I lied for you.”

Gaston felt a sharp pain in his chest at his friend's confession. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep his face empty of emotion, clenching his fists so that his anger wouldn’t come out. What he had feared most had come true: the village had blamed LeFou for his mistakes. For a moment he thought of stealing the cart and returning to the village just to teach a lesson to all those hypocritical villagers!

But there was something that he still didn’t understand. "But what does _Stanley_ have to do with you?"

The prince let out a snort which resembled a laugh, and rose, moving away from the place to give them some privacy. Gaston had even forgotten that the prince was there, but after seeing LeFou's discomfort, he realized that _he_ had not forgotten the prince. And they both knew something Gaston didn’t. Gaston narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

“Stanley danced with me at the celebration party at the castle,” LeFou explained. “I was still living in the village then. When I was judged, the prévôt determined that if Stanley had a... friendship with a known criminal, then they couldn’t trust him to take care of the safety of the village.”

"When they _judged_ you…?" gasped Gaston indignantly. “Did you have a trial with the prévôt?”

“Yeah, well, it's not important,” LeFou said. "Prince Adam and Mrs. Potts prevented me from being condemned, so they had to declare me innocent. The villagers, anyway, said that it was all _your_ fault they attacked the castle, so _they_ weren't to blame. Only they wanted someone they could condemn, and you weren't around, and as I was protected by Prince Adam, they couldn’t actually blame me because the prince would have become angry with them for not respecting his decision...Well, let's just say that in many places I was no longer welcome."

"That's why you went to live in the castle," Gaston whispered.

LeFou nodded, his eyes lost. “I don’t even have a job there; I just help in whatever way I can. Belle is teaching me to read and write. And Mrs. Potts is very kind to me. The truth is that everyone there is wonderful. They don’t deserve the suffering that these kidnappers have brought to the castle."

“The prince mentioned that a certain... Lumière was seriously hurt.”

“Yes, when we left the castle, he was unconscious,” LeFou said. “The doctor didn’t know if he would wake up again. Now that he and Plumette could finally be together again...”

“I think that's the man I saw fall down the stairs,” Gaston realized. "One of those men in black struck him... For the amount of blood, I thought he was dead.”

“You saw the attack on Lumière?” LeFou asked in surprise.

“I saw it when I got to the castle,” Gaston answered.

LeFou nodded, lost in thought. A quiet atmosphere surrounded them.

“Do you like living there?” Gaston asked abruptly. He hated that his voice was shaking.

“The inhabitants of the castle are kind to me,” LeFou said. "I feel good there. I thought I would never get used to it, but the truth is that... I miss it. I miss the castle."

Gaston couldn’t help feeling disappointed by LeFou's response. “You miss it? The castle?” he asked with difficulty. “Really?”

“We treat LeFou well, Gaston,” the prince said, walking towards them. Apparently he had heard the end of their conversation. He sat down next to LeFou, much to Gaston's disgust.

"I miss Mrs. Potts. And Belle. I fear that now that I will forget everything she has taught me," LeFou said with a sigh.

“And why is that?” the prince asked.

“I can’t practice my writing here,” LeFou murmured, disappointed.

“Why not?” the prince asked, surprised.

“I have no books... or papers or a pen,” he answered.

Instead  of responding, the prince merely pointed around. Gaston gave a small smile as he understood what the prince wanted to say.

“You can use everything you have to practice your writing, you don’t need paper and pen,” the prince said. He reached up and broke a twig off the tree. With it, in the sand, he wrote in clear letters:

_Adam._

LeFou smiled. He took the little stick from the prince's hand and wrote _LeFou_ in shaky letters next to the prince's name. After looking at Gaston for a moment, he also added another word. The prince, when he saw it, laughed. Gaston bent to read it.

_Gastton_

Gaston let out a small sound of exasperation, but kept his smile. He crouched down and erased the extra letter. When he stood up again, LeFou was blushing, and the prince was still laughing. Gaston looked at LeFou and suddenly felt as if an electric current flowed through his body. He got up suddenly, catching the prince and LeFou by surprise.

“I-I’m going for a walk,” he said.

The two men looked at him, surprised by his attitude, but Gaston did not excuse his behaviour and moved quickly away.

“Don’t go too far! We have to leave soon!” the prince shouted at him.

He hadn’t gone too far when he had to stop. For some reason, his hands were trembling. He took a breath and tried to force his pounding heart to calm down. If he turned, he could probably see Prince Adam and LeFou watching all his movements, so he resumed his march and hurried away, trying to stay out of their range of vision. He sat down by the river, uneasy, and leaned back until he was lying down. The ground was hard, but it was not something that made him uncomfortable. He closed his eyes, trying to make his mind blank, praying that his limbs would stop trembling, and that the tingling that was born in the centre of his body and extended to the tips of his fingers wouldn’t be as intense so he’d be able to use his extremities again.

He hadn’t even spent a full minute there when he felt a presence lean over him, and he straightened heavily, expecting to see LeFou or even the prince there. He was shocked to see Agathe, but it didn’t stop him from reacting: he jumped to his feet and instinctively pulled the knife from his boot. Agathe laughed.

“What are you doing here?” Gaston demanded. “I thought you weren’t going to visit me again. You said that yourself!”

“I said I would not _interfere,_ not that I wouldn’t visit you. Besides, I warned you that I would see you when the trip was over,” Agathe reminded him.

“Is _my_ trip over?”

“No, not yet. But I wanted to talk to you.”

Agathe gave no more explanation than that and fell silent, as did Gaston. He glared at her furiously. He felt anger, but at himself, for letting that woman affect him so much. And on the other hand, he was afraid, because ... what if Agathe was there to take him? Or worse yet... what if Agathe had decided that he didn’t deserve this opportunity, and reversed all her actions?

"I have to admit, Gaston, that I didn’t have much hope in you, but the truth is that you are surprising me,” Agathe said, pacing around him. "Well, in fairness, I didn’t have too much hope for the prince either, and he surprised me too.”

"Does this visit have any purpose, or did you just come to engage me in a conversation?" Gaston hissed, totally defensive.

“Do not talk to me that way!” Agathe rebuked him.

“Are you going to punish me? Now? Are you going to turn me into a _beast_? Are you going to lock me up in a castle?” Gaston challenged her.

"Are you ready to leave LeFou alone?" she asked pointedly.

Gaston, surprised by the unexpected question, closed his mouth almost instantly, kicking the floor in frustration. "LeFou now has the prince and all the inhabitants of the castle to keep him company,” he grumbled. “As soon as they find Belle, they won’t need me. And they will send me into _exile._ ”

“But that does not answer my question,” Agathe said.

“I don’t think he’ll...”

“Miss you?”

Gaston turned his back on Agathe, trying to keep his composure. Tense, he walked towards the river, until the water began to splash his boots.

Agathe chuckled. Gaston's patience snapped, and he abruptly turned.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?”

“I saved your life. You should be grateful,” Agatha said.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have!” Gaston exclaimed, exasperated, throwing his hands up in the air. “What is the purpose of all this? What do you need _me_ for?”

"Didn’t you want me to save your life?" Agatha asked.

“You still haven't told me what the _price_ for your actions _is_!” he protested. "The prince at least got instructions!"

"Because his task was different from yours, Gaston," she said quietly, folding her arms. Gaston hated that although he kept shouting at Agathe, she wasn’t intimidated at all. "You're different. You have already found your true love."

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Gaston said quickly.

“But you _do_ know. You know that the eternal worry you have inside you is much _more_ important than you try to pretend. Maybe you should start by admitting that half of the decisions you make are to protect LeFou. Although I can respect that you are not prepared yet to recognize it.”

Gaston gritted his teeth, trying to hold on to something. "Tell me what you have come to tell me and _leave_ ," he hissed between his teeth.

"I didn’t come to tell you anything, but to give you one thing,” Agathe said.

Gaston watched Agathe raise her hand, palm up, and there, in the centre of it, there was a light. He was entranced for a moment, watching as the light gradually increased in intensity. And then, suddenly, it was extinguished, revealing an object in Agathe's hand.

It was a little bottle, decorated with an intricate pattern of a rose. Agathe put her fingers around the bottle and offered it to Gaston, but he made no move to pick it up, peering at it with suspicion. Agathe finally had to put it in his hand by force, and yet Gaston had to fight with himself, trying not to let it simply fall to the ground.

“Save it. You will know how to use it when the time comes,” she said to him.

“And what if I do not use it?” Gaston asked.

“You'll use it,” Agathe assured him.

Gaston sighed heavily, tired, but secured the small bottle in his belt. He lowered his shoulders, feeling defeated. “I don’t want to continue playing this game of yours, Agathe. Why don’t you speak clearly and tell me what you want from me? What is this bottle for?”

"If I spoke to you plainly, Gaston, as you wish, then you would learn nothing." Agathe answered. "All I want you to do is walk the path to _redemption_."

“Redemption? Are you still on that?”

Agathe nodded. Gaston hated her answer. He hated Agathe for not giving him clear instructions, like the prince. There was something else, however, that was eating at him, and before he could stop himself, he let the question escape his lips.

“Belle's kidnapping ... It's not my fault, is it?” he asked.

“Your fault? Why would it be?” Agathe asked, not understanding.

“You didn't plan this kidnapping to teach me anything... right?”

“Of course not!” Agatha was offended by the insinuation. "Do you really think I'm capable of that? It has nothing to do with it! I just took advantage of the situation!"

"After what I heard about what you did to the prince, and also indirectly to Belle, I would not be surprised. You have no scruples," Gaston replied.

“Look who's talking! You actually took advantage of Belle’s confinement in the castle to gain Maurice’s favour, didn’t you?” Agathe exclaimed angrily. “But let’s leave it there. I had nothing to do with Belle's abduction. Unfortunately, Prince Adam has yet to face some things from his past.”

“So it has to do with the prince...”

"It doesn’t matter now, Gaston,” Agathe interrupted quickly. “Anyway, if you make the right decisions, everything will work out fine.”

“And what if I don’t?”

"Are you worried about what might happen to Belle?" Agatha asked, incredulous, raising an eyebrow.

“I don’t care about Belle! But... LeFou... She's LeFou’s friend. And I hate that you're implying that everything depends on me. Is that so?”

Agatha grinned.

“See you Gaston,” she said.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but here it is!

“What…? Wait! Agathe!”

But Gaston was alone again by the river. Frustrated, he kicked the ground hard. Finally he started back to where he had left the prince and LeFou. They hadn’t moved from the place, although from where they were sitting, they must have had a good view of the conversation between Agathe and Gaston. But they acted as if they hadn’t seen anything. Was it possible they hadn’t seen Agathe? Impossible! They should have seen her! Why did they pretend that nothing had happened?

He passed them in fury and dropped down a few yards away. From there he could watch them and listen to their conversation without having to close to them. Gaston clenched his fists and hid them behind his back, his expression hardening hi. The two men did not even notice his anger, continuing their conversation as if nothing had happened. All around them were dozens of words written in shaky letters in the sand.

“I don’t have the patience of Belle, I assure you,” the prince was saying. "Belle is a better teacher than I, no doubt. She told me that she wanted to do something for the girls in the village, to teach them to read and write, because they aren’t allowed to go to school. I suggested demanding the girls’ admission, but Belle wants to get involved, go further ... Did she tell you about that?”

"Yes, she told me. She thought could give them lessons in the castle library, and I thought that maybe Stanley could pick up the girls from the village to take them to the castle – that could be his job. It's hard for the girls to come if they don’t have anyone to take them to the castle, and the forest’s dangerous, even in daylight. Belle thought it was a great idea...but I didn’t have time to ask Stanley,” LeFou said, sounding disappointed.

Gaston snorted, rolling his eyes. Stanley... _again_. It annoyed him that LeFou had been thinking about that boy, even if it was for something as trivial as taking girls to a castle. But that would probably mean that Stanley and LeFou would have to see each other at least a couple of days a week, right? Gaston didn’t like that at all.

“Is there something wrong?” he heard LeFou ask.

Gaston realized that both men were looking at him. He shook his head. Then he realized that LeFou was frowning at  Gaston's reaction to the conversation between the two men.

Gaston was furious. "Do you really feel _guilty_ because Stanley doesn’t have a job?" he couldn’t help but ask mockingly.

“Of course!” LeFou exclaimed indignantly. “Don’t you?”

“Why should I?” Gaston asked indifferently. “It wasn’t _my_ fault. Besides, I don’t care about him. I barely know the guy.”

“Of _course_ it was your fault! If you hadn’t led the attack on the castle--”

“If _you_ hadn’t been around _Stanley_ , he wouldn’t have been punished,” Gaston said, letting his voice fill with venom for all the jealousy he was feeling. “Don’t blame me for _your_ mistakes!”

“ _My_ mistakes?” LeFou exclaimed, rising to his feet. “It was _your_ fault! All of it was your fault! _I warned you_! I told you the attack on the castle was _not_ a good idea! But you didn’t listen to me!”

“Of course not! You were just being a _coward_! You were afraid of a talking _cup_ , for God's sake!”

“How dare you! The only reason you wanted to attack the castle was because you couldn’t bear the thought that you had _lost_!” LeFou raised his arms, looking at Gaston furiously. "It's _over._ I can’t anymore. I’m done with you. I’m done trying to pretend that everything’s still good with us because it _isn’t_! I can’t be your friend anymore. I thought that maybe your time in the woods would have changed you, but you’re still the same _jerk!_ "

LeFou stood up, turning around and leaning on the wagon, taking several deep breaths, trying to keep his emotions in check. That image, far from calming Gaston, only made him more furious.

"There was a _beast_ in the castle! Did you really think I'd let it go, LeFou?" Gaston asked. The prince, who had been leaning over LeFou to try to help him calm down, turned sharply at that remark and glared at Gaston. Gaston ignored him. “Hey! _Look at me_ when I'm talking talk to you!”

“Or _what_?” LeFou asked, turning abruptly. “What will you _do_?”

The prince, frowning, put himself between them, shielding LeFou protectively. “I will _not_ let you talk to LeFou like that!” he said sternly.

"Don’t--" Gaston began.

“With all due respect, my prince, but this is between Gaston and me,” LeFou interrupted.

LeFou clenched his fists against his body and was visibly furious. He was far from the scared man he had once been who shrank when Gaston raised his voice. For the first time since Gaston had started this argument, the hunter realized the consequences of all this and regretted that he had taken his anger out on LeFou. It wasn't even LeFou he was angry at, really. He wished he could go back and erase the last few minutes from LeFou's memory, but that was impossible.

Nothing prepared him, however, for the words LeFou said next.

“You're _awful_!” LeFou shouted at him. “I don’t know why we were ever friends!”

Wounded, Gaston shrank, visibly hurt and unable even to hide it. The two men didn’t appear to notice it, or else they were simply ignoring it. Gaston swallowed hard, feeling a tightness in his chest.

Unfortunately, LeFou still had a lot to say. "The days when I kept quiet and followed you like a lap dog are _over,_ Gaston! Get used to it, because I do not follow your orders anymore!”

The prince gently took LeFou's arm. “All right, LeFou, I think he's got it. I think we'd better get on with our trip as soon as possible."

“No!” LeFou protested. “He hasn’t even _apologized_ for what he did! He doesn’t even realize all the lives he has ruined! I can’t go to the village’s tavern anymore! I can’t even go into the village square without hearing their comments! I had to move from _my house_! So I will _not_ move from here until he apologizes!”

“LeFou, please, leave it!” the prince said. “I understand how you feel, but we have to leave. We have been here too lng already! Think about Belle, please! Remember that we have to find her before we get to Lyon, or--!”

The prince stopped abruptly. LeFou, however, remained impassive, without taking his eyes off Gaston. After a last look of disdain at his former friend, he turned and walked away from both men, kneeling by the river to drink water.

Gaston, however, had turned his attention to the prince. There was something important in his words, something that was escaping him. He couldn’t contain his curiosity.

“Or what?” he asked.

“What?” the prince asked, not understanding.

"You said you have to find Belle before you get to Lyon. What will happen if we don’t?"

The prince, worried, bit his lower lip, twisting his hands. “I have no authority in Lyon,” he said finally, after a pause.

"Then ask the king to grant it to you!" Gaston exclaimed. “It’s not difficult. You royals are always doing favours to one another. I saw it many times when I was in the war.”

“I can’t ask the king for a favour,” the prince said.

“Why not?”

“Because _he_ was the one who ordered me confined to our province,” the prince admitted. “My father did many bad things when he ruled, and he tried to betray the king. The king forbade him and his children to ever leave our province, and as Belle is to become my wife, they may decide to arrest _her_ if someone recognizes her there. And if they discover that I've left the confines of the province and gone to Lyon, the ruler of Lyon will say that I’m conspiring against the king and accuse me of treason. I'll be  condemned to death."

“Why would he do that? If you explain what happened to Belle, sure he would--”

“The ruler of Lyon – my cousin –  has always wanted to seize my territory and add it to his own,” the prince explained.. “He was furious that the king merely confined my father and our family to our province, instead of getting rid of us and giving our land to _him._ What better way to get it than this? I don’t have heirs. If I'm found in Lyon, it will give him the perfect excuse to accuse me of disobeying the king's command and plotting treason against him. He'll convince the king to have me executed, and to give him my territory as a reward for exposing me.”

Rage filled Gaston's entire being. With flaming eyes, full of fury, and his breathing laboured with the effort not to scream, he could barely control the urge to throw the prince in the river. "You're saying that if someone discovers us leaving the kingdom and tells the monarch...then he will condemn us to _death?_ ” Gaston hissed. "I know very well the punishment for aiding and abetting a traitor to the throne! Nobody told me this! If I’d known--”

"Would you rather have gone to the gallows, Gaston?"

“I'd rather go to the gallows than have my head cut off!” Gaston yelled. "I cannot believe I ever agreed to associate with you! You, your father, you should all disappear, all of royalty! You are only interested in power and money!"

“ME?” the prince yelled back. “I love your double standards! _You_ only care about fame! And I am _not_ guilty of the actions of my father!  What do you expect me to do? You do not know what my father was like--!”

"Oh, I know perfectly well what your father was like, for I fought in the war under his orders!" Gaston interrupted. "He was cruel, ignorant, and he didn't care about the number of men who died under his command! He tried to betray our allies to try to enlarge his territory! Why couldn’t he settle for what he had? And where was _the son_ when hundreds of men _risked_ their lives? I’m sure he was _partying_ at the _castle_ with the money of the poorest villagers!"

The prince clenched his mouth shut, grimacing and biting his lower lip. When he spoke again, his voice sounded calmer. "We just have to work hard to find Belle before we leave the province. If we can reach those men in the next village..." the prince began.

"But what if we don't get there in time? The next village is the last before the border! Then we will be in Lyon, and therefore, in danger!" Gaston interrupted.

“You knew that trying to rescue Belle could be dangerous! But you still accepted!” the prince reminded him.

“Risking my life in battle, where I have the opportunity to defend myself, is very different from being condemned to death because of someone else's mistake!” Gaston snarled.  “I will _not_ follow you outside the borders of the province!”

"Are you going to flee, Gaston?" the prince asked. “Don’t you know what that means?”

“You've kept the truth from me!” Gaston protested. "Why would I want to follow you to a certain death?"

The prince's countenance changed almost immediately. He seemed to have realized that Gaston wasn’t willing to stay with them, and his desperation was beginning to show. In one last attempt, he gripped Gaston's arm and pulled him close, lowering his voice to a menacing whisper. "If you don’t help me find Belle, Gaston, I promise you'll discover just how _cruel_ I can be," he hissed.

“And now…are you threatening me? You’re just proving to be _just as bad your father_!” Gaston said in disbelief.

“I am capable of doing _anything_ for Belle, even if I have to use your weaknesses against you!” the prince exclaimed. “Can’t you see I'm desperate?”

“What do you mean...weaknesses?” Gaston said angrily.

The prince's expression hardened. “I don’t like to threaten, Gaston. But I'm not an idiot. I'm hurt. LeFou doesn’t have the strength to face those two men when we find them. And I need to get Belle back. I _need_ you for that. And I will _not_ let you run away. I know what's most important to you, and if I have to use that to save Belle, _I will._ ” He glanced meaningfully at Lefou, just for an instant...but that was enough for Gaston to lose his temper.

“HOW YOU DARE YOU USE HIM AGAINST ME!” Gaston shouted angrily. His finsts clenched and he made a move to punch the prince, title be damned.

But suddenly LeFou, who seemed to have materialized out of thin air, was putting himself between the two men. “Gaston!” LeFou said angrily. "How dare you attack our prince?"

“He's threatening you if I don’t obey!” Gaston protested.

"You're taking this too far, Gaston,” LeFou said, frowning.  “You've always been a liar, but...”

“I'm not lying!” Gaston interrupted.

“Just... let's go. Now you want to discredit Prince Adam? After all you've done?” LeFou asked, glaring at him.

“You have to believe me! Do you know the danger you are facing by being beside him?” Gaston protested, but even to his ears that protest sounded weak. “He said he will use you to make me obey!”

“THAT’S ENOUGH, GASTON!” LeFou shouted. Gaston slammed his mouth shut. LeFou had never raised his voice that way before, but now this was the second time in one day that he was shouting at him.

"I can’t believe you believe _him_ above me, after all we've been through together!" Gaston protested.

“That's _why_ I believe him! Because I know you!” LeFou exclaimed. “You'll do anything to get what you want!”

Gaston gritted his teeth. “You're _wrong_ ,” he hissed, his voice filled with venom. “But it's okay. Let's get Belle, then. You’ll eventually see the truth.”

The prince smiled and went to get into the cart, but Gaston’s arm gripping his prevented it. He pulled the sleeve of the prince’s jacket until the prince's face was inches from his, and quickly, so that LeFou wouldn't notice and intervene in the prince's aid, Gaston lowered his voice.

“I'm just going to warn you,” he whispered. "Pray we'll find Belle soon, because I swear to you that if you ever _think_ of putting a hand on LeFou, or if someone _finds us_ outside the kingdom, I _promise_ I'll pierce you with _your own sword_."

"Is that a threat, Gaston?"

“You said it yourself. LeFou is my _weakness_ ,” Gaston retorted angrily.

The prince was impassive, and once he was free of Gaston's grip, he climbed into the cart, smoothing the wrinkles of his jacket. Gaston glared at him as he, too, climbed into the car. His eyes didn’t look away from the prince. He wanted to hurt him. He wanted him to suffer.

“You know what?” he said aloud once they had resumed their journey. "Agathe visited me. She told me that Belle's abduction is _your fault_. I hope you rest well now, knowing that _you_ are the only reason your loved one is in danger.”

Gaston was proud when he saw the prince's jaw tense, even though he remained staring forward and acted as if he had not heard Gaston.

The only one who did respond was LeFou, who turned quickly and glared at Gaston disapprovingly. "Do you _ever_ stop lying?" he snapped.

Gaston turned his gaze to the sky, feigning indifference and whistling a cheerful song. He still could not believe LeFou was defending the prince. From the outside he could pretend he didn’t care, but inside he couldn’t let his anxious thoughts settle in his head. If he thought about it, he couldn’t even breathe. It was painful. It was as if a huge hole that never stopped growing was expanding in the centre of his chest. Everything would be better once he could leave and leave the village behind... but of course he had no plan, no place to go.

He was alone. And he couldn’t bear it.

The next few hours were tense. Gaston didn’t even have enough energy to move, and he spent the trip with his eyes on the sky. Maybe he should have been more attentive to what was going on around them so he could make sure they were on the right track, or that there wasn’t anyone about to attack them, but he was too distracted and couldn’t find enough strength inside to do that. Fortunately, LeFou guided them smoothly until they encountered a group of merchants who were heading the other way.

The prince and LeFou got out to talk to them and ask them about Belle, but Gaston remained in the cart. He sharpened his ears, however, ready to listen to the conversation and intervene if necessary, but both men managed to get the information through.

"Yes, I've seen those men you mention. They told me they were  on their way to Lyon," said one of the merchants. “They were with a girl ... one of them said it was his wife. The girl seemed sick.”

"Sick, you say?" the prince asked, worry in his voice.

"Yes, she was pale, trembling. I suggested that they go to a doctor and offered to go get one, but that man was rude. He threatened me with a knife, as if I were a vulgar criminal!” the merchant exclaimed indignantly. "It wasn't so long ago that they passed by, so if you hurry, you'll probably catch up with them in the next village. It's not far from here."

They got into the cart quickly after that, heading for the next village at full speed. Gaston hadn’t moved at all, staring at the clouds as if they were the most interesting things in the world. He was too focused on his own thoughts to pay attention to what was happening around him.

_Why do LeFou’s words affect me so much?_ he asked himself. _I didn’t care about other people’s thoughts before._

_You know why_ , a voice in his head said, sounding too much like Agathe's.

And he knew it. Of course he knew it! But if he admitted it now, when he was so vulnerable, it would not help his self-esteem, which was already at rock bottom. He moved slowly in the cart, never letting the prince or LeFou see his face - much to his dismay, his eyes were wet.

_Does he hate me?_ he asked himself for the umpteenth time.

He closed his eyes and bit the inside of his cheek trying, by all means, not to make any noise, much less let escape that sob that threatened to escape his body. Was he going to let himself cry in front of them, for God’s sake? He really was pathetic.

_Maybe if you asked for forgiveness .._. _But would it be enough? He’s seen the kind of horrible person I am! There's nothing I can do!_

A sigh from the prince caught his attention, taking him away from his inner argument. Gaston looked at him out of the corner of his eye and discovered that the prince was watching him. He quickly looked away.

_If I find Belle, he'll probably change his opinion about me._ _But what good would that do? It's not like I have any chance to be with...!_

Gaston forced his mind to go blank. His thoughts were approaching a dangerous point. If the idea ever entered his mind, it would settle permanently, and Gaston couldn’t afford that. Not when he needed to keep his head cool.

_Don’t think about him!_ he ordered himself.

But his eyes had already turned to LeFou, and it was his friend that occupied his thoughts. He tried to entertain himself by drawing the sword from its place in the cart and passing a piece of cloth over it, wiping his blade thoroughly. He kept all his attention on such an arduous task, pretending to be alone in that solitary place, although the rattle of the cart took him several times from his fantasy. He couldn’t help frowning every time he remembered the fury in LeFou's eyes.

_Why doesn’t he believe me when I'm telling the truth?_

And to think that he had told LeFou, just the day before, that the prince was good! Gaston clenched his fists and tried to calm his anger to avoid the urge he had to take the sword and stab the prince with it. He tightened his fists on the handle until his knuckles turned white, trying to control his breathing.

“What's that?” LeFou said suddenly.

Gaston jerked his head up. There, in the distance, he could see what LeFou had perceived.

A huge group of people surrounded something that was on the ground, something that they couldn’t see from where they were. LeFou urged the horses to approach, but without rushing, afraid of what they might find. The atmosphere had suddenly become tense. When they approached and that group of men looked up, they could see what they were surrounding: a body, abandoned in the middle of the road. It was covered, so they could not see who it belonged to. Gaston's heart began to beat hard, fearing the worst.

The prince held his breath, and Gaston, with his eyes wide, was barely blinking, unable to withdraw his gaze from that body covered by a thin white sheet. Dismayed, LeFou had stopped the cart near the group of people. In the front, a priest was whispering a prayer in Latin. The prince, horrified, stifled a groan.

“What happened?” LeFou asked, his voice shaking.

Several men looked up, and one, who by his robes seemed to be the prévôt, took the initiative. "A girl, Monsieur. She seems to have been murdered.”

“A girl? Do you know who she is?” Gaston asked. To his surprise, his voice sounded grave, frightened.

"No, Monsieur, we don’t know,” the prévôt answered. “No one has seen her before.”

 
    
    
      
    


	10. Chapter 10

"The girl is unknown, Monsieur," the prévôt said. "No one's ever seen her here before."

Gaston looked at the prince, who had lost all color in his face. Gaston couldn’t begin to understand what he must have been feeling…what if it the girl under the sheet was Belle? Gaston himself was distressed at the thought.

"May I see the girl, Monsieur?" the prince asked, his voice low, his gaze lost. His voice was on the verge of breaking. "We're looking for a girl and maybe...maybe..."

“Maybe it's her?” the prévôt completed, sympathetic.

The prince lowered his gaze. He couldn’t stand the looks of pity. His eyes fixed again on the thin white sheet that covered the body. He held his chest tightly, as if it were difficult for him to breathe. LeFou looked at the prévôt, following his movements. In the tense silence, no one looked away from the afflicted prince except for Gaston, who watched as one of the men crouched beside the girl's body and pulled the sheet away, revealing the girl's face.

Gaston couldn’t help a huge sigh of relief at seeing a cascade of red curls and an unfamiliar face. It wasn't Belle. He hadn’t realized that he had been holding his breath. LeFou had tears in his eyes, and he was covering his mouth with his hands. The prince didn’t hide his tears, although he cried silently.

"She isn’t the one I seek, Monsieur," said the prince finally. "Although as monarch of this region, I command you to look for the culprit of this heinous crime and punish him accordingly as soon as possible. I do _not_ want murderers in my lands."

"Yes, sir," said the prévôt quickly, bowing. "Excuse me, Your Highness, for not having realized that it was you before."

The prince nodded, distracted, while the rest of the men murmured their excuses and made small bows.

"How long does it take to get to the village?" the prince asked.

"Just a few minutes on horseback, my lord," said a short, plump man. "Go to the tavern, Monsieur. There they will offer accommodation for you and your companions. "

"It is not necessary, we are just passing through," the prince said.

The prince's comment seemed to offend one of the men, who frowned and crossed hisir arms. "Just passing, my lord?" he asked.

"As I said, we're looking for a girl."

"Maybe she's one of the four girls who have been killed this month!" the man exclaimed abruptly. Realizing that he had just shouted at the prince, he straightened, bringing a hand to his mouth. "I'm sorry, my lord. We're a little nervous."

“Four girls, you say? Why haven't patrols taken care of it?" the prince asked.

“We don’t have patrols, Your Highness. We already wrote to the palace, explaining our problem, but until now we haven’t received any answer. My lord, your father, our late prince, forbade the patrols in our village, since we are a very small place, and he didn’t want to pay men for the security of the village. But we are next to the border, and the prévôt isn’t enough,” the man said, looking down.

"But who is responsible for the safety of the village, then?" the prince asked in concern.

"The people, Monsieur, when our occupations leave us some time," he replied. “But it's not enough. Borders make us vulnerable. Criminals know, and a lot of nasty things are happening around here.”

"I _cannot believe_ my father did that!" the prince said angrily. “Find men who want to be part of the patrols, even if you have to look for them in other cities! I want several men right now protecting these lands! Borders are places we must protect!”

"Your father was _not_ very intelligent," Gaston said.

The prince frowned.

" _Shut up._ "

Gaston frowned as well, imitating the prince's expression, but restrained himself from commenting.

When they continued on their way, a tense silence surrounded them. LeFou didn’t dare say a word to ignite the already disturbed anger of the prince, and Gaston couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that every minute that passed brought them closer and closer to Lyon...which brought LeFou closer and closer to danger.

The last village before the border was a neglected and small place situated on the slopes of a mountain. It barely formed a couple of streets, dotted here and there by small wooden buildings that seemed to have been placed at random, without following any particular order. The streets then became narrower and narrower, full of sharp curves, where the cart had great problems to pass. It was a very sad and dark place, full of skinny barefoot children begging for food and drunk men passed out on the corners of the streets. Everything seemed to be covered in dirt and mud, and it smelled awful.

The tavern, located in the centre of the village, was also a dark and smelly place, and just after entering Gaston wanted to run away. But he kept his eyes on LeFou, noting how he helped the prince get out of the cart and walk toward the establishment. Once inside, the villagers surrounded the prince with attention, already knowing  who he was. Gaston sighed. That would only bring problems.

He sat down on a small stool, utterly discouraged. He couldn’t tear his thoughts away from the red-haired girl in the woods, and the fear he had felt in believing, even for a brief moment, that it might be Belle. He told himself it wasn't logical that Belle's kidnappers would take the trouble of dragging her all this way, only to kill her. But doubt and uncertainty grew within him: if those men felt persecuted or cornered, they might decide to get rid of her to escape their problems. Although Gaston hoped that wouldn’t happen: after all, these men were professionals, hired by someone, and they wouldn’t give up easily without completing the job. But the question, then, was: who had hired them, and why?

Gaston shook himself, reminding himself that this wasn't _his_ problem. He would focus only on saving himself and LeFou. If he managed to solve Belle's abduction before arriving in Lyon, then he would be fine, but he wasn’t going to follow the prince outside the kingdom's borders. He didn’t trust the prince, not after he'd threatened Gaston.

Then he noticed that neither the prince nor LeFou were paying the slightest attention to him. That was something that made Gaston very angry. Slowly, without drawing anyone's attention, he rose from the stool and walked toward the end of the bar, to observe them while he himself was unobserved. They were so engaged in their conversation that they didn’t even realize that Gaston wasn’t where they had left him. From time to time they exchanged words with the bartender, perhaps questioning him about Belle's whereabouts.

Gaston, for his part, couldn’t help but look towards the door of the tavern. His eyes drifted towards it every few seconds, debating with himself whether or not he should take the opportunity to leave. He wanted to save himself, and it really didn’t matter to him if he had to flee and not fulfil his promise to the prince. But deep down, he wanted to get Belle back, if only to make LeFou happy. And if the prince caught him escaping, perhaps he would come to fulfill his threats. Gaston couldn't risk that.

He moved again, but he stayed within the shadows, trying not to draw attention to himself. With discretion, he stood by the door of the tavern, leaning against the wall, having an inner conflict with himself. Should he leave? If he stayed, then he  would have to cross the borders to Lyon with LeFou and the prince. Any patrol that recognized them could seize them. But if he left, and  the prince was captured, LeFou would suffer the consequences of being with the prince.  Gaston wasn’t even sure if LeFou _knew_ that the prince was banned from ever leaving the province.

But if he stayed…maybe the prince would let him get revenge on the man with the scars for stabbing him. Revenge on this man was a pretty attractive idea.

But that only could happen if they caught those men...which meant staying with the prince and following him into Lyon. Gaston's thoughts went round and round.

“I'M FINE, LEFOU!” he heard then, and that took him out of his stupor.

Gaston raised his head quickly, and saw the prince facing his friend. Forgetting his escape plans, he moved quickly to stand beside them. “What's up?”

“He is ill!” LeFou replied, exasperated. "But he refuses to rest!"

“Belle needs me!” the prince protested.

“But she needs you _alive!_ You can’t appear in front of her so sick! She would worry.”

“Sick?” Gaston asked.

“I think he has a headache that he refuses to admit. He wasn’t walking straight, I noticed, which means he’s feeling dizzy,” LeFou said. “Maybe he has a fever.”

"And you _didn’t_ mention it?" Gaston asked the prince angrily. “Do you want to die?”

"It's not important! I have to find Belle!" the prince said.

“If you're sick, you can’t find Belle. If you're sick, you're a burden!” Gaston snapped. “Why don’t you look for a doctor?”

“I'm not sick!” the prince insisted angrily. “Belle is more important. The waiter said that those men stopped here recently. So let's get out of here! If we hurry, we can reach them!”

"But you can hardly move, my lord!" LeFou protested quietly, putting his hands on the  prince's shoulder to prevent him from rising, as he intended.

“We can’t call a doctor, no matter how much you want! I don’t want anyone to know I'm hurt. Can you imagine what would happen if they found out I was vulnerable?” the prince said.

"Well, you're right about that," Gaston conceded, tilting his head slightly. "They could attack you."

“For what reason?” LeFou asked in exasperation. "Why are you always seeing danger? Apart from the assailants along the way, we have had no major problems!"

“We're at the border, LeFou!” Gaston said. “This is where all the criminals come! They  cross from one side to another to avoid justice, making this the most dangerous place in the kingdom! Look around at this place! That’s why it’s so tiny. No one wants to live here.”

LeFou looked at him, his eyes narrowed, thoughtful. Gaston was nervous about not being able to know what his friend was thinking as he watched Gaston with such intensity. Unwillingly, he found himself losing himself in LeFou's features, in his eyes, in the roundness of his cheeks, in the soft curve of his nose, in the way he frowned slightly, at the moistness of his lips...

Then he realized that  LeFou and the prince had risen to their feet and he, unconsciously, had followed them. LeFou had spoken a few words to him, but his mind hadn’t registered any sound. He nodded absently and hoped, at least, that it wasn’t something important.

They set off quickly, directing the cart toward the mountains. Lyon was on the other side of the small mountain range, and Gaston began to get nervous.

There was still time to run. A glance at LeFou was enough for him to drop the idea.

But when the cart began to travel the narrow paths up and Gaston began to notice the considerable height, he regretted his decision.

He had never been afraid of heights before, but now his hands trembled, and his mouth was dry.

And he had an uncontrollable desire to burst into tears.

And run.

He gripped the cart so hard that he felt the edges of wood stick into the palms of his hands. He tried to control his nerves, without success. His heart seemed to be trying to jump out of his chest. He swallowed so loudly that he caught the attention of his companions.

“Is something wrong?” the prince asked.

"I don’t like mountains," Gaston said quickly. “There are too many hiding places.”

"I agree," the prince said weakly.

"But that's the only way to get to Lyon," LeFou said.

"We know," the prince whispered. "But that doesn’t mean I like it. Of course, if these men have brought Belle for...”

The prince stopped in mid-sentence. His face showed the deepest concentration, and although neither Gaston nor LeFou could understand why the prince had so abruptly stopped his speech, neither of them dared interrupt him.

“What was that?” the prince asked.

The question was addressed to LeFou, who looked at the prince without understanding. “My lord, I haven’t heard anything. Perhaps they are the delusions of fever,” LeFou muttered.

“It's not that, LeFou,” the prince said.

Then Gaston heard the rustling of a branch and the soft whinnying of a horse.“I hear it too,” Gaston said, serious and worried.

“What?” LeFou asked.

But Gaston never heard the answer. Instead he heard only a thud, accompanied by a scream. Something had knocked the prince right out of the cart and he was on the ground. Gaston jumped out of the cart so fast that he didn’t support his injured leg well and nearly fell, but that didn’t stop him, because the prince’s sword was already in his hand, ready to face anything. He jumped quickly to the prince's aid, with LeFou at his heels. A heavy stone flew into the cart, hitting the very place where Gaston had been sitting a moment before. He quickly got into cover behind the chart, pulling LeFou next to him. But LeFou wasn’t willing to leave the prince unprotected in the middle of the road. He quickly pulled out of Gaston's grasp and rushed to the aid of the prince, who was unconscious. Next to him was a huge stone stained with blood. LeFou began to pull the prince to cover him, but he had to dodge the stones that were still flying all around them. Gaston ran toward them, grabbing up a stone and hurling it in their direction. The stones ceased to be thrown.

“Come out of your hiding place!” Gaston shouted. “Face me face to face! COWARDS! Come out into the light!”

For several long seconds, only silence was heard. Then suddenly, as fast as it all had begun, horses' hooves were heard, and a man in black appeared at the end of the road, pistol in hand. Half of his face was covered by a thick beard, but that didn’t divert attention from the scars that covered his left eye. Gaston noticed that his left eye was cloudy, so whatever had happened to that man to earn those scars had him with no vision. That was an advantage Gaston intended to use in his favour.

“I thought I killed you already,” the man said with a sharp accent.

“Obviously you didn’t do it well, since I'm still here,” Gaston replied.

Gaston raised his sword at the man with the pistol and tentatively advanced a couple of steps. The man raised his gun, but instead of aiming at him, he aimed at LeFou and the prince. Gaston, realizing this, lowered his weapon quickly.

Then another stone whizzed by Gaston, who dodged quickly so as not to be hit. The man laughed and  fired at the cart, hitting one of the wheels. The man laughed again, wheeling his horse around and fleeing at full speed.

“Go after him! He'll take you to Belle!” LeFou shouted.

Gaston hesitated, but LeFou was already unleashing the horse's reins. Gaston, concerned, looked at the prince, still unconscious, and then at LeFou, biting his lower lip.

“Go after him!” LeFou shouted again. "Isn’t he the man who attacked you, the one who took Belle? Get Belle back! It’s your chance to be a hero! Please, Gaston."

Gaston made his decision, quickly mounting the horse. "Go back to the village and wait for me there,” he ordered LeFou. “I'll get Belle.  I’ll try to get in touch as soon as possible. But if you have no news of me in two days, then cross into Lyon -- but don’t let the prince come with you, no matter what!"

“Wait!” LeFou shouted before he could go. Gaston paused. “Be careful, okay?” LeFou whispered. Gaston nodded, pulling on the horse's reins and galloping at full speed in the  direction that the man had followed. He gripped the reins tightly and, with his other hand, grasped the handle of the sword, which banged against his leg as the horse galloped. He continued up the mountain, along that narrow road. Every inch higher they went made Gaston  more and more nervous, especially when the the horse approached  the edge of the road and he could clearly see just how high they were. One wrong move would send them tumbling down into the canyon. Gaston shuddered.  However, he sat firmly on his mount and pressed the horse to go faster, feeling that he was getting closer to the men. He forced himself to focus on the road ahead and nothing else.

It wasn't  until he began going down the mountain again that he finally caught sight of the men. They rode on horses as black as their clothes. Belle was on one of the two horses, firmly gripped by her rider. When he saw her, Gaston increased his the pace, pushing the horse to the limit.

“Hey!” he screamed “BELLE! BELLE!”

One of the two men turned on his mount and pulled a pistol from his belt, firing. Gaston shrank into the horse, but it didn’t slow him down.

“BELLE!” he continued shouting. The girl didn’t react.

Suddenly, one of the men stopped abruptly and jumped off his horse, continuing to shoot at Gaston. Now that the guy wasn’t in motion, his shots were much more accurate, and Gaston was almost hit several times. Gaston stopped the horse and jumped off, drawing his sword. The guy who was carrying Belle also stopped and went under his horse to watch the confrontation, laughing. At least the shots seemed to have stopped.

“Belle, are you okay?” Gaston asked, ignoring the two men. But Belle didn’t answer. She looked the way those girls that from the first village had described her: gone, as if she wasn’t really there. She was so pale and her eyes were glazed, and she didn’t utter a sound. The two men laughed loudly each time he addressed Belle.

Furious, Gaston ran toward them, sword in hand. "What have you done to Belle, you bastards?" he asked angrily.

"She’ll survive," one of them said dismissively.

Gaston lunged at the man, furious, brandishing the sword.

The man knocked Gaston to the ground. Gaston immediately tried to roll, without success. The man grabbed him his jacket and pulled him hard, dragging him across the floor. Gaston resisted, but the other man hurried to help the first. Even with the strength of both, they couldn’t keep up with Gaston, who was fighting with all his strength. Belle watched impassively from one side, sitting on a rock, as if watching a play in the theatre.

Gaston managed to hit one of his attackers in the eye, and watched with satisfaction as he recoiled, sore. He rolled on the floor, pulling the other man to get him to lose balance, and both began to beat each other, trying to subjugate the other. Their strength was even, but Gaston was beginning to feel rather tired.

Then he heard a soft moan, and his attention focused on Belle. One of the men had his pistol pressed against her neck. Despite this, the girl remained impassive, her eyes clouded, with little blinking, and without being aware of what was happening.

Gaston rose to his feet. He was frightened, but didn't show it. “You can't kill her,” he scoffed with more bravado than he felt. “You wouldn't have gone to the trouble of taking her all this way unless you need her alive.”

“Very smart,” one of the men said. “You're right: we DO need her alive. But that doesn't mean we need her _unharmed.”_ Grinning malevolently, he lifted Belle's limp unresisting arm, and pressed the pistol directly against her palm. “Are you going to behave, or does she start losing body parts?”

"Don't!” Gaston said, horrified.

The man chuckled. "Leave the sword on the ground and walk away slowly," he said.

Gaston hastened to obey, and stepped back, leaving the sword on the ground. The other attacker reached Gaston, but instead of tying him up as Gaston was expecting, he kicked  his injured leg so hard that it he crumpled to the ground in agony. They both laughed heartily. The other one approached him and between both of them they lifted him off the ground, and tied him firmly to a tree.

“Oh, the irony, you know?” one commented. “I was told about you when I was in your village. They all seem to hate you...and yet they keep your face on the wall. The war hero who fell in disgrace when he attacked the prince. Although they told me you were dead!” Gaston spat at him. The man grabbed his hair, forcing him to lift his head and look into his eyes. "They also told me it was you who tied the princess's father to a tree to let the wolves eat him. So why don’t I make you suffer the same fate?”

“I'm not the only one who’s looking for Belle. They _will_ find you, and when they do, I hope they _kill_ you," Gaston sneered, trying to sound menacing.

“Who? The prince? Don’t be an idiot. By the time they find us, Belle will be long gone.”

"The prince will send someone," Gaston insisted.

"We will be _far_ away," said the man, tightening the ropes around Gaston's body.

Gaston tried to catch Belle's eye, but her eyes were unfocused and her gaze lost. Gaston had tried to get her attention before, without success, but before they took her away, he wanted at least to try again.

“BELLE! Can you hear me?” he shouted.

The men's laughter intensified.“It's useless, she doesn’t even know where she is. Isn’t it wonderful?” the man laughed, grabbing Gaston's sword from the ground. “Now, what do we do with this?”

His companion took took the sword and stuck it in the ground in front of Gaston. "Let's just leave it there, so he can observe it well as a reminder of how badly he  failed," he said, laughing. “Who knows –  you may get lucky and some criminal passing  by will kill you with it, before taking it. That's a better way to go, faster than starving to death, if you wish. Anyone passing by would do it ... It's a good sword, worthy of a prince.”

"It is the _prince's_ sword," replied Gaston defiantly.

“Are you serious? The prince must lack trustworthy men, if he's giving away his swords to someone who tried to kill him! Of course, we heard that he was not very popular in the kingdom... Nor is his future wife, is she?”

"I'll _kill_ you," Gaston grunted.

“Your glory days are over! Because you're not too popular anymore either...right? Isn't it funny? You saved people from death while in the army, and now to repay you, they want to cut off your head!” He laughed again, as if it were a great joke.

“I _swear_ I'll kill you!” Gaston screamed.

"I understand, at least, why you take refuge in the shadow of the prince. Have you formed a kind of club, something like the outcasts of Villeneuve? Is that why you exchanged swords?” The man leaned closer and asked mockingly, “Do you also trade women, or is it just Belle?”

“I am _not_ in the shadow of _anyone_!” Gaston shouted, so loudly that all the birds in the trees flew away. The atmosphere was silent, while Gaston, agitated, writhed in the tree, trying to get rid of his bonds. “You're a scoundrel!”

"Well, scoundrel or not, I'm on the way to becoming a very rich man,” the kidnapper said cheerfully. “And now, if you'll excuse me, I have a 'delivery' to make.” He smirked as he lifted Belle onto his horse and climbed on behind her.. "I hope you've put all your affairs in order, because I doubt that you will live to see tomorrow's dawn. _Au revoir_!"

Gaston jerked forward, trying to grab the man by the throat, despite his bonds, but all he could do was  watch impotently, as they rode off with Belle, who still looked catatonic.

Once they were gone, Gaston's anger melted into  fear. The men were right: as soon as night fell, the wolves would come looking for him. He screamed until he lost his voice. He struggled to escape his bonds,  without success.

He spent hours tied to the tree, uncomfortable, feeling the almost unbearable tingling of his limbs as they fell asleep from disuse. He had long ago given up on his attempt to untie himself, for it had become a most useless task: the ropes around his body pressed against him painfully, and the slightest movement caused friction on his arms and burned his skin.

He assumed that soon the wild animals would come and kill him.

Then night fell.

The howls of the wolves made his hair stand on end. How many times had he hunted these animals, when they dared to get too close to the village? How many times had he sold the skins of those beasts in the village so the villagers could make blankets for the winter? How many times had he chased them in the woods, with LeFou, always loyal, behind him, just for fun?

"I'm going to die tonight," he said aloud, and that made it more real.

Was this what Maurice had felt, that night Gaston had done the same to him? Had he felt the cold, feeling his limbs tremble, his teeth chattering? Had fear run through his body? Had his heart leapt into his chest by the force of his heartbeat?

His eyes were wet, and as he closed them, a tear escaped them, running down his cheek. Was this his destiny? Had he been so wrong in his life that his end would be so cruel?

"I'm sorry," he whispered. “I'm sorry, LeFou, I've failed you.”

He closed his eyes, and more tears escaped them and fell free on his face. LeFou wouldn’t cross the border until two days later. By then  the wolves might have left no trace of him. He wondered if the prince would come to believe that he had fled ... perhaps he would issue a search warrant against him, though, of course, they would never find him. Maybe, if he was lucky, they'd find some scraps of his clothing, torn and stained with blood. At least then LeFou would know that he hadn't run off. That he'd tried, even though he'd failed miserably.

He spent long minutes pondering everything he had left undone in his life, everything he would never have. He would have loved to have the opportunity to have his own cabin, on the edge of the forest, on the outskirts of Villeneuve...to feel the satisfaction of having built it with his own hands, and to move in and  live there with his family.

He would never have a family.

 Then the first wolf entered his range of vision.

He was entirely grey, huge, and angry. He approached Gaston slowly, baring his teeth and growling.  The wolf looked hungry.

Then he howled. Another wolf appeared in front of him, just like the first. They both began to prowl around, circling him in ever closer circles, showing their teeth. It was as if they wanted to stretch the moment as long as possible, knowing the suffering that they would inflict on Gaston.

There was nothing Gaston could do. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, waiting for the sharp pain of fangs piercing his flesh.

Suddenly there was a hissing sound and a sharp animal cry of pain, followed by a thud. Gaston's eyes flew open.  One of the wolves was dead at his feet, an arrow stuck in its back, blood soaking the grass. Another arrow flew towards the other wolf, but it fled, disappearing into the woods.

Rushing footsteps approached him.

“Are you okay?”


End file.
